


nothing

by bclark



Category: One Direction
Genre: Cheating, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Harry was abused, Implied Sexual Content, Louis and Eleanor are married, M/M, Past Abuse, Pining, Underage - Freeform, eleanor is a bitch, louis saves him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bclark/pseuds/bclark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being locked in his uncle's basement for 9 years, Harry escapes after a cyclone hits Innisfail. He stumbles into a local married couple and settles right into place. For Louis and Eleanor, the intrusion of the 16 year old boy only brings the transient couple to dispute. </p><p>[© 2014, [larryuniverse/b.clark]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this story with a girl named Kimmy on another website and she unfortunately quit because she became incredibly busy. I finished it myself, however, and decided to put the final product on here. I hope you enjoy. (:

There's a soft squeak of the door and light peers into the room. A food bowl is scratched across the concrete and trips down the stairs to end with a messy clash on the floor where his eye level meets. He sits up from the mattress and sighs exasperatedly. Harry concludes it must be morning.

He blinks up to the door, now closed and locked with the twelve notches and switches to prevent escape. He knows this. There's ham and cheese scattered across the flight of stairs and Harry can see the pink and yellow pastels under the dim light. It brightens up the room, somewhat. There's probably nothing left in that food bowl of his. He checks. He's correct.

So food from the floor it is, not like it's any different from any day. He's glad he's fed three times a day and his water bottle is filled up four. He feels as if there's nothing else to it but eating, sitting, drinking, maybe a bit of sleep, maybe a few scratches up the wall to indent his thoughts. One line says it all. Life really doesn't get better than this.

Still, there's nothing but a sense of hope that maybe he'll one day be able to see light. Maybe he'll ask his uncle on his 18th birthday. Maybe he'll be able to finally see what he's been missing for the past nine years. He vaguely remembers what the outside world looks like. He tries not to remember. He's afraid of it. He's scared to be free from here. He's afraid of change.

As per usual, he sits and eats his food without a complaint. It really does not get any better than this.

Being stuck in his uncle's basement for nine years didn't seem like that big of a deal to Harry. Presumably because he can hardly remember life outside of it. He thinks he's treated nicely. He's used to being alone, being abused. He knows when his uncle is coming to him with a belt ready to whip him until his bruises feel numb. He's used to the dark. He thinks things could be worse, they really could. Maybe he could have a set meal plan instead of a change every day. Ham and cheese is like a delicacy to him. He doesn't think he's had this in months.

He looks up and squints at the usual seep of light at the dirty window. He has tried to escape from there before. He didn't succeed. The window's glued shut. It keeps the room lit up, despite how horribly dusty it is. Harry could write for help. Harry could stay there and look out the window in desperate hope someone will see his eyes and will let him out. But he doesn't. He's trained to stay here. He likes it here, he thinks. He doesn't want to move. He hates change.

His stomach is still growling by the end of his meal, so he swallows his saliva to reduce his famish. He stretches out and squeaks a little, curling up on his frame-less bed and rolling onto his back. He stares at the ceiling. Quite dim, like his opportunities and his lifestyle. Harry doesn't mind, however. He likes this. He keeps reminding himself that there's nothing better than this.

Look at those children who go to school. They're obviously stressed out and are being attacked by angry mean people, and if you weren't, you were still back stabbed by people you'd called friends. Harry has no friends. That's good. No one to back stab you. No school means no stressing out. Learning is obviously the worst thing to do. Harry's glad he doesn't have school.

Look at those idiots who have a job. Ha, they're overworked and they don't get paid enough. Harry doesn't have to work. He can lounge around and get fed every day for free. He might not have a shower or a proper sanitary toilet, but he's fine. He's not dead. At least he's got a shelter. Some people have to sleep in the rain, or be batted by winds. Innisfail isn't a safe place to live if you're homeless. Harry's glad he doesn't have to face any of this.

So he endures in a restless sleep with a soft smile on his face, because why would he want anything else? Why would he want to live life on the outside? Why would he want to make his life difficult by changing it? He's happy like this.

So happy.

****

The next time he wakes, it's not for lunch. 

Harry's up immediately. There's no time to waste when his uncle's standing before him. He itches at his beard and keeps a sneer on his face. There's a orange light from his mouth where a cigarette sits. He takes it out and blows the smoke into Harry's face and he tries his hardest not to cough. He sputters it out and his uncle immediately smacks him to the ground.

"No noise, fish bag," he hisses. Harry should have known this. He stays on the ground. He can't retaliate. His uncle puffs his death stick and demands Harry to stand up straight. Harry does as so without making a single noise. He's holding his breath. 

Another puff and he smooths the smoke over Harry's face. Harry remains expressionless. His uncle steps back and reaches forward for his left arm and tugs it up at the wrist. Harry knows so he turns his head away and clenches his jaw together to remove the pain. His uncle burns out the cigarette on his arm, twisting the flaming ash into his white skin. He bites his lip and screws his eyes closed and waits out the pain. Another ten seconds and the impact is gone and the yellow butt is on the floor. He shoves Harry down again and barks at him to stop being a weak ass, before storming up the stairs and leaving Harry be.

He sits on his mattress and looks at his arm. There's been burn marks on his porcelain skin since he was 6. The ashes from last month are still there and are probably never going to go away. He takes his water and dribbles a cap full over the burn site, washing away the ash and revealing the flesh his uncle had burned into. Harry treats it with care and covers the area with a bandage he found a little less than a year ago. There's some mysterious things inside his basement. A lot of useful things to the least. 

He falls back to sleep with no complaints. The abuse is normal. It could be worse. He's happy.

****

When dinner is thrown down to him, Harry picks it up and eats it lazily. His stomach is hungry but he doesn't feel the need to eat. He feels powerless. He feels as if he could go without food for weeks and live off the darkness.

The night is closing in. The room is darker and it stays like this until the scratch of his bowl in the morning. He falls asleep without a damn in the world. Things could be worse, but then again, things could be better.

He sleeps with the cold air enveloping him. He could only wish for a blanket. He could only wish for a pillow. He could only wish for someone to be by his side to help him sleep away from the secret. Nightmares enrage him from the secret. The secret is anything but traumatizing. Harry wants to one day sleep it off. Every night, for nine years, he has to live with the secret haunting his mind. Every night he sees the same old age video of blood, gore and that piercing scream that brought Harry into this enclosure. There's no escape from his mind, or his cage. He's trapped.

This is when Harry begins to cry and he doesn't know this. He's unconscious in await for a lovely dream but it's filled with the same blood and gore of the nine year old video. He cries because he knows there's a better life waiting for him. He cries because there's something out there that's waiting for him and only him but there's no way out. He's stuck here. He's going to be stuck here until he's wrinkled and paralysed by darkness. 

He cries because of the secret. His life would have been different. He wouldn't have been trapped here for all these years. At sixteen, he should be happy. He should be playing with children his age. He should be getting a job and overworking to pay for his shelter and everything he's ever wanted. Instead, he's stuck here with the same schedule of eat, sleep, drink, sleep and if that's not fucking boring and worrying, then what is?

He doesn't remember this by morning when he wakes. And he doesn't wake from the clatter of his food bowl. Instead, the rattle of the window across the room is shaking and Harry can see the slight overcast of the town's weather through the brown muck. He sits up and stares. It's a usual phase for winds and storms to come at this time of year. They're interesting. It's like TV to him. He sits and watches as the weather changes and soon, the clouds turn into a hellish grey.

Rain pours down like a waterfall over Innisfail and Harry only smiles with interest. The conditions worsen and Harry only sits with his folded arms over his kneecaps and he watches. His stomach growls and he's wondering where breakfast is. He's sat waiting for over an hour and his stomach is uncontrollably groaning and turning on itself. Harry thinks it's hunger. It's actually the warning for danger.

The cursing of his uncle upstairs really should give it away that something horrible is happening. There's a shatter of glass and Harry's left to wonder. He stands up from the mattress and ambles to the window, where he stands upon a mound of boxes to reach the porthole. He wipes away at some of the dust and takes a look outside. Through the light bushes, he can see the darkening weather and the tilt of some trees in a wind storm. Harry blinks at his sight. It's wonderful, really. Nothing exciting like this has ever happened here. A wind storm could brighten his day.

He's back on the mattress and he waits yet again. There's another shout from his uncle and then something collapses. It's a loud collapse and Harry is hoping it's his fat arse tripping over. But then another collapse and a soft groan. Harry stands and looks outside again. The rain is starting to flood the streets and the trees which stood before are now flat to the ground. Power lines stringing up and down the street are also falling and he sees someone pulling out of their driveway to drive their family away. Harry's stomach gurgles again. This is danger.

More collapses happen and the moment Harry saw a roof being swept off his neighbour's house he screams and clambers back down on his mattress. No, change isn't good. This isn't good. Harry doesn't want anything to change. This wind storm wasn't a good idea. No. Something is happening outside. Harry doesn't want to go outside.

Another collapse and this time there's no shout or anything from his uncle. Harry begins to rock back and forth with his arms tight around his knees. He bites his lip and whispers to himself. Change is happening. Something is happening. No, no. This can't be happening. Then, the unthinkable happens. The door swings open and no, there's no one there. There's an enormous amount of light shining through and also a gust of wind. There's clouds and a city in view when Harry stands up. 

He doesn't think. He stands up and takes the stairs to the door. Thinking he'll be attacked when he reaches the top, he's reluctant to walk any further than half way. He can see the outside. Where's the wall? The wind is still gusting through but it's calmer now. It's much calmer. Harry calls out.

"Uncle?" He takes one more step up and gulps slowly. There's no response. "U-Uncle, are you there?"

There's, once again, no response. So Harry flees the basement. Change isn't good, but Harry's making a run for it. The entire house has been broken to bits. Harry can't recognize the rooms. The frame of the roof remains in tact but there's not a perfect wall in place. The front door is missing. Harry goes through it and runs out into the street where he takes a look at his first view of life outside of the basement.

He's ready to turn back and go inside the dark room. He's not ready for change, but his legs are taking him past the front yard and across the flooding road. His ripped jeans are soaking up the dirty water and he's skipping past fallen trees and shut off power lines. He's taking himself to places he never thought he'd walk on. Harry's heart is fast, his breath is missing. He can't breathe by the time he stops. He looks back and he can't recognize which one is his Uncle's house anymore. It happened so quickly. Why is he out here?

Then he feels the wind. It begins to pick up again and Harry begins to panic. What if he's blown away? What if his uncle tries to find him again? That's when he begins running on a limitless amount of energy he's suddenly developed. He's unfit. He has been for nine years. He's hardly got any muscle or fat on him but he still runs. He runs for his life. The wind is picking up; he can feel it glide across his skin and the rain drops are starting to crater into him. 

He's sure he's run three streets by now, probably more. Harry can't remember. He can't really count either. He turns left beside a house and only realizes when he's blocked by a wooden fence that he's run into someone's backyard. The rain is smacking against him now and the wind is tousling his hair into a matted state. Harry has to stay here. He runs towards the house ready to knock to let himself in, but there's a small tool shed across the yard. He takes that. It's better than being intrusive.

He lets himself in and slams the door shut behind himself. He goes into the dark corner and shuts himself away from any light. There's creepy crawlies at his backside but Harry doesn't care. He curls himself up and waits for this shit-storm to fade away. He can hear the pitter patter of the rain on the tin roof and the hiss of the wind outside. Harry's not going anywhere. Why did he run away? Why was he that much of a fucking idiot to decide to run away and change everything?

Then there's a noise. Not the wind, not the rain, not anything falling down, but the noise of another human being. His kind. Another person. Someone other than his uncle. Then another person. It's a male and female, he recognizes. They're shouting at each other, but the male's voice is nearing closer and closer. Harry makes himself as small as possible. They're going to kill him if he's in here. They're going to throw him out and make sure he suffers in his wind storm. They're going to--

Shit. The door swings open and Harry can see a figure. He instinctively whines, cowers into himself and cries into his knees. He's hoping the man can't see him. He's hoping that he'll leave him alone. But since when did Harry have that type of luck?

"Hey!" The man shouts and Harry tucks impossibly further into himself with another whine. There's a soft what? coming from him and he pads forward. Harry's biting into his skin now. He doesn't want to be touched, or maimed, or anything. He wants to be left alone. "Hey, hey, what's all this then?"

His voice is soft and sweet and Harry really wants to look at him and see who it is. There's a hand grazing over his knobbly knees and soon a warm palm is over it. Harry hisses and moves away from the touch, but the man only laughs light-heartedly.

"Don't be shy," the man whispers. "Where are you from, hm? We don't often get little boys in our shed during a cyclone."

He laughs and rests his hand on Harry's knee again. Harry tilts his head slightly to look up from his knees. A stubbly face with warm blue eyes crouching down before him. He's smiling gingerly and looks very lovely. He's got a beanie over his hair and he looks quite tired, despite his cheery face. Harry swallows and begins to lift his head further, feeling trust build in the atmosphere. This guy isn't capable of killing him.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" He asks, and Harry shakes his head. The man quirks up his mouth into a small grin and stands up from his crouched position on the floor. "C'mon, come inside. El won't mind. We'll look after you until this cyclone passes over."

But Harry's reluctant. Why would he go with a stranger? Why should he trust that this man isn't going to lock him inside his basement? Why would he be so open with Harry when he's intruding? Maybe something's in the water in Innisfail. Some people just seem absolutely mad.

A hand is out for Harry to take but he only hides himself in his knees again and hopes he'll be left alone. It doesn't push away the owner of the home though. He only tries again.

"C'mon, mate. I don't bite, I promise. If I did, my missus probably wouldn't have married me," he jokes. He's back down in a crouch and encouraging Harry. He's definitely a maniac. "The weather's only going to get worse, love. I'm either staying here with you, or we're both going inside together." Then Harry looks up and sees the sincerity in his eyes. He's damn serious. "We have hot chocolate inside?"

He then stands again and looks down to Harry with that same affectionate smile. Harry stands with him this time but still hides himself in his shoulders shyly. The man takes his wrist and pulls at it weakly.

"I'm Louis," he says. "You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to," and Harry likes that. He stays silent and Louis then tags along with him to walk into the house. The wind has picked up significantly and the rain is like hail against him.

They're inside and the woman of the house is in front of them within seconds. She begins to scold and Harry widens his eyes with fear and steps back behind Louis, clutching at his shirt and whining. He's terrified and Louis shouts at the woman.

"El, please," he says softly. Harry overlooks Louis' shoulder and sees the confusion on her face. Harry remains behind him. "I found him in the shed."

"You can't just take children, Louis," the woman hisses. Louis turns around to gather a frightened Harry in his arms. The woman begins to scowl again. "I literally just asked you to put away the chairs. You come back with a child--"

"For God's sake, fucking look at him!" Louis snaps, pulling Harry forward, still tight in his arms, and showing him off. "He's probably a homeless one, El. Just... c'mon. He can stay with us until this cyclone's gone."

Harry supposes the lady's name is El. She storms away without another word. Harry notices the surroundings and the area is dark from the power shut off. Louis spins him around and hugs Harry again. Harry relaxes himself into it. He hasn't had a hug in over nine years.

"Don't worry about Eleanor, alright?" Louis tells him. "She's a little cranky today. She'll be fine with you here."

Harry nods with uncertainty but he trusts Louis. So far he trusts him. "I-I'm Harry," he says to him. "My name is Harry."

Louis pulls back and smiles to Harry. He's around 10 inches shorter than Louis, he thinks. Louis folds a curl away from his face behind his ear and admires his dirty face. Harry smiles.

"Well, Harry," he says in a merry tone, "you were certainly running around at a bad time, weren't you? There's a category five cyclone popping through Queensland and we're all going to have to all snuggle up together with some warm drinks until this storm passes over."

Harry smiles wider, with his teeth this time. He hasn't done that in a while. "Sounds cool."

Louis drags him into the kitchen where they make hot drinks on the stove for the three of them. The clatter of wind against the windows and the sound of the house creaking to its collapse is enough to panic Harry, but Louis hugging him with a blanket around themselves and a mug of hot chocolate in his hand is enough to bring him away from being absolutely mortified.

It's even enough to make Harry feel a little warm with something he hasn't felt in a while; love.


	2. Chapter 2

Love. It means one thing to love, but it’s a completely different feeling to be loved. Both of these ways of love, Harry has neither experienced nor acted upon for a long time. It’s been so long, it’s slipped from his memory.

Wrapped in an old, tethered, plaid patterned blanket, he sits on the couch in a foreign house with foreign objects inside of it. This house is luxurious in his eyes, but to most, it appears to be an average place. The couch is worn out, but soft and cushioned to the touch. The cushion molds perfectly around his bottom and he can’t help but run his fingers along the soft fabric. The feeling is nothing compared to the lumpy mattress he laid upon only hours before. He moved his feet over the surface of the carpet below, the little strings of the silken carpet entwining through his toes. Straight in front of him, the curtains were closed, only cracks of light peaking through.

Outside, the storm had only slightly calmed, but Harry doesn’t care. He is safe now. He is comfortable now. Never has he ever felt such pleasurable comfort in his entire life! It overjoyed him, this strange, unfamiliar security! Here he is, nevertheless, in a place he’d like to call his home. He wanted home to be like he once remembered it before everything was taken away from him and he was secluded from the world and everyone in it.

Home, what he can remember of it, was beautiful. He would wake up and find breakfast in the kitchen with the delicious aroma. He was satisfied with the little things life gave him like air to breathe and a family to love.

That was all gone before he knew it. He learned to be content with what he was given - even though he was given scarce amounts of food, clothing, water, and everything else a typical teenage boy would have in life. It was all taken away from him. All of that happiness vanished in the snap of his fingers and it all led back to his grueling past he dares to never speak about. His uncle told him not to and he promised to do so, as he always obeyed his commands.

Nonetheless, he never had anyone to tell. Who would he have told? The mice he’d sometimes find in the filthy basement he called his room? The imaginary friends he invented when he was ten? Or perhaps he’d tell himself, as he talked to himself often and the memory repeated in his mind over and over and over again…

Sometimes he is convinced that he is insane. Looking in from the outside, most would think the same. Who in their right mind wouldn’t go crazy? Most of his lonesome days he spent lying in his mattress, staring at the ceiling and wondering – always wondering - what was going on outside of that crummy basement. That was all he knew. He never once thought that life would get any better than that, but he always imagined what would happen if it did.

Constantly imagining a great life and consistently thinking about all of the things he didn’t have made him insane, he couldn’t do anything; that itself will cause insanity.

When Louis met him, although Harry thought so, he didn’t see insanity. He saw a young, handsome boy whose wandering eyes were mysterious and vacant, yet full of hope.

Hope. The innocent, youthful boy barely had an understanding of what hope was. He lost it all when he lost everything. Yet now, it seems as if he is staring hope right in the eyes. Hope must have dark blue, ocean eyes complete of love. There’s that word again.

Harry fell asleep on that worn out couch thinking of those ocean eyes, but he surely didn’t dream of them. All he saw once he closed his eyes was that grueling memory that only repeated itself in his mind until he goes senseless. Maybe that is another factor in why he thinks he is mad. The gunshot, the blood, the terror in his family’s faces… all came back in what was only a few minutes of a dream, but dragged on for him hour after hour.

He’d have these dreams - no, nightmares - often. Too often. Every time like a scratched record, he’d wake up, lashing around and screaming for his life. It took a moment for him to comprehend that he had awoken. His uncle would yell at him to quiet down each time it occurred and never once did he console the boy. He had his reasons and motives.

There were days when Harry wondered, as he wondered frequently, if everyone was as inconsiderate as his uncle. Was everyone outside of that murky, mucky basement as discourteous of other’s feelings as his uncle was for his?

He faintly remembers his life before everything turned for the worst. He recalls falling off of his bicycle and his older sister rushing over to help. Also the time when his cat died and his mum sat and hugged him for hours. Those were moments when people that he cared deeply for expressed consolation towards him. Then, there was his uncle who was supposed to be considered family, but never once was in Harry’s perspective.

All memories of his life before quickly faded and became harder for Harry to recollect. As much as he could, he hung onto these memories. These memories were the only thing pulling him through his days in that basement- other than his very little amount of hope.

Because most of his memories of life then are gone, he has little memory of the way people treated each other and how they are supposed to treat each other. With kindness? With respect? With love? Harry had no idea. All he knew for most of his life was pain and agony. The biggest gesture of love offered to him from his uncle was when he filled up his water bottle five times in one day. That was one of the luckiest days of his life.

No wonder Harry was taken aback when Louis found him and took him in, caring for him as he hasn’t been cared for in a long time. Even more taken aback was he when Louis rushed into the living room where Harry woke from his nightmare, concern in his eyes. Cocooned in the blanket, Harry continued to lie, sweaty and teary eyed from the realistic dream. It was only realistic because it was at one time real. Over to Harry with open arm, the protective older man ran. Immediately, Harry fell into the contented, warm arms of the man as he sat on the couch next him. With the thick blanket draped over his shoulders still, Louis pulls it tighter around him.

The sensation he gets when Louis’ skin touches his is inexplicable. The sensation is a sentiment he hasn’t felt for a long time, he realizes. His uncle’s touches were abusing and hateful and never gentle and loving like Louis’ small hands are capable of. Not only did he find the sensation pleasurable physically, but emotionally as well.

Harry looks up at Louis with admirable eyes. He couldn’t be more appreciative for this man who was taking care of him as a parent would. Down at Harry, Louis gazes the same way, with wide and curious eyes.

“Nightmare?” Louis asks, still staring at him observantly. In response, Harry nods before tucking his head into Louis’ muscular chest. Up his chest covered by the thin fabric, the younger boy slides his hand that isn’t hidden beneath the blanket. It is hard and warm. Every part of Louis seems strong to Harry and compared to Harry, he is like the Hulk. “You don’t have to talk about it, sweetie.”

Harry valued that. Louis isn’t pushy, urging him to say anything he doesn’t wish to talk about. Regardless, Louis does wonder. Where did this boy come from? Why does he appear to be so fascinated about this house and the simple objects inside? And the boy is filthy.

“Not to sound rude, but when was the last time you took a shower, Harry?” questions Louis in a gentle voice. Confusingly, Harry raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t detach himself from Louis still or turns his face to look at him. In the arms of the older man, he is enduring nothing but serenity. Why let go?

“A shower?”

“Yeah…” Louis whispers. It is probably impossible for Louis to be any more baffled about this boy who is muddled about a simple activity such as a shower.

“I bathed with a wet rag.”

Stunned, Louis blinks to the boy with his jaw slack. “Why?”

At his lap, his shifts his green eyes uncomfortably. It isn’t that Harry doesn’t trust the man, but he just met him. What if Louis would get rid of him after he found out the truth? Or about his secret? What if he didn’t want him around anymore once he found out he was basically an orphan?

Not pushing him any further, the chestnut haired man stood to his feet before walking to the hall closet. He practically had to pry Harry off of him. Quite adorable is the young boy, clingy and demonstrative. Everything about him and the way he presents himself is endearing.

He tugs a washrag from the top of the closet, a blue one with “Tomlinson” embroidered on it. He soaked it in warm sink water, squeezing most of the liquid out after to prevent it from dripping all over the furniture. Back over to the couch, he strolled, sitting by the boy again. Closer to him, he hoists Harry by his long, thin legs that lack much muscle at all. Across Louis’ lap, Harry rests his legs, his large feet dangling over the side.

“This will do for now,” says Louis in a small voice, tenderly wiping Harry’s dirty face. His other hand that doesn’t held the rag fondly embraces Harry's chin. “Maybe you can take a shower in the morning… if this storm stops completely.”

Toothlessly, Harry smiles at him. Cascading from the younger boy’s mouth is a tiny giggle when Louis dabs at his nose and pokes at it playfully. Harry is shocked that he had a reason to finally laugh and Louis smiles back, his heart feeling as if it could burst from cuteness. It was like he imagined it would be like taking care of his son or his little brother.

“Now everyone can see your face,” coos Louis after he completely finishes cleaning off the dirt. He caresses Harry’s pale face for a few seconds. “Your parents must be beautiful people.”

Again Harry looks at his lap anxiously, although he is slightly pleased, tears immediately come to his big green eyes. Discerning this, Louis hastily changes the subject- not by words, but by actions.

He blunders the blanket from his shoulders, beginning to clean his arms. At the touch, Harry instantly cringes. In a panic, the man jerks the rag away. All up Harry’s pale arm are the burns, old and new, some worse than others. There are bruises here and there, scars, cuts, and scratches.

Abuse isn’t the first conclusion Louis comes to. Nowadays a lot of teenagers are suicidal, Louis knows. Depression has become more common for teens because of media and society, the expectations. It tears them apart. He gets it.

“Did you do this to yourself?” concernedly asks Louis, holding his delicate arm, cautioned not to hurt him. Shocked and bewildered is Harry as he shakes his head rapidly and tilts his head to the side. He can’t perceive why the man would make the assumption that he would be doing something that odd. Harry has never heard of such a thing. “Then who did?”

Tears well up in his eyes again. Only this time they left the corners of his green orbs and fell down his cheeks, leaving trails like rivers down his skin.

“Harry…” he began, mildly stroking his face and wiping his tears away. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to… I just need to know if you actually have nowhere to go. Do you really not have a home?”

Although he knows most of his house is still standing most likely and his uncle might still be alive, there is no way in hell he’d want to return back there. Hurriedly, he shakes his head, curls falling in his face. Tucking the curls away and behind his ears, Louis trails his fingertips down his face before he caresses Harry’s cheek in his palm.

“As I said before,” Louis whispers while leaning into him slowly, “you can stay here with us. El probably won’t mind.”

Just as he spoke this, Eleanor was right around the corner in the hallway, listening to their every word. Every word causes her to grow more and more agitated. In the doorway, she peaks her head, tightening her housecoat around her.

“Louis, may I have a word with you?”

Startled by her sudden presence, they turn their faces. Harry has a feeling she doesn’t like him, but he is unsure as to why. Does she just not want him here? Louis knows that's the reason she wants to talk as well.

Carefully, he moves Harry’s legs from his lap before walking halfway down the hall with Eleanor. Her nose is scrunching up and her eyebrows are furrowed. Louis titters nervously on the balls of his feet and laughs with paranoia falling with the chuckles.

“You look constipated,” jokes Louis, attempting to lighten the mood. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Her face only gradually turns redder.

“We can’t keep him, Lou.”

“You talk about him like he’s a dog,” laughs the man, gently grabbing the sides of her arms and pulling her closer into him. “He’s a human being and has nowhere to go.”

“We don’t have the money to support another person in this house--“

“Just the other day you were talking about having a baby and now you’re saying we don’t have the money?”

“Yeah. Have a baby in the future,” she shoots back, eyes sending glares like daggers. “You don’t even have a proper job.”

“I’m a musician.”

“Playing covers in bars doesn’t count.”

This hurt Louis. He really, truly tries to support her by doing something he enjoys and of course it doesn’t pay the best and he doesn’t get many gigs, but at least he is doing something. At least he is trying.

“I’m done talking about this,” huffs Louis, shaking his head in frustration and sliding his hands off of her arms. She folds her arms in front of her, sighing loudly.

“I’m going to bed,” Eleanor grumbles as she is turning away. She pivots to the side and looks back, realizing that he isn’t following. “Coming?”

“Later. I’m staying in there with Harry for awhile.”

She gives a small scoff of bemusement. “Of course you are,” she spits, slamming the bedroom door behind her once she enters. Louis cannot believe she is acting this way. This is his wife, the woman he married and fell in love with, but not as he remembers her.

He thought she’d be all for taking care of the young boy until he is healthy again. What was so wrong with taking in Harry? One more person to shelter and clothe? Yes. One more mouth to feed? That is no big deal.

Louis has a feeling that this actually has nothing to do with money. Eleanor may have something against Harry. He just can’t quite figure out as for why.


	3. Chapter 3

Out the window, it's a bright blue sky. It's cloudless and seems as calm as any other Autumn day before Cyclone Yasi hit Innisfail. Harry curls in closer to Louis, who had remained behind him with an arm around his waist for the past five hours. Harry hasn't slept. He can't sleep. The nightmares taunt him. Harry doesn't want to sleep again.

 

He sighs and glares at the opposite side of the room where pillows and blankets still scatter around the room. It's light inside as well as out. Morning has come after a terrible night. Harry feels relieved. He could almost breathe out his relief, but it's caught up inside his throat when the terribly red faced lady makes an appearance from the hallway.

Harry screws his eyes closed and tightens in Louis' hold. Despite the protection, Harry feels vulnerable. He can't be closed in. Harry knows he's never safe. If twelve locks can't keep the storm from blowing the door over back at his Uncle's, then who is he to say he's completely safe with an arm around him? Especially when the lady herself is raging and silently contemplating her target like a horned bull.

But what is her target? Is it Harry? Harry thinks it's him. He knows that he's not very good company. He heard the night before that Louis and Eleanor couldn't keep him. Harry didn't mind. He knew this was going to happen. Needless to say, however, he doesn't want to leave. Where is he to go if he is kicked out? He won't complain if he is. He's learned not to do that either.

Maybe her target is Louis. Maybe she doesn't like how Louis is going against her will to wanting Harry to piss off. Louis told him last night, before he fell asleep, that he'll do his best to keep Harry safe. He quotes, don't think I'll kick you out a day or two after the storm, H, I'll keep you safe. Harry ran that through his mind tirelessly for the past five hours.

Or maybe the target is the both of them, but Harry can't put himself and Louis as an item just yet, so that's definitely out of the question.

She steps softly across the carpet, intending to make as little noise as possible. The pads of her feet near closer and closer and with each step Harry falls deeper and deeper into a black hole of fear. Up close, you'd notice the very few details of his face that change. His nose crinkles, his eyebrows furrow into one knitted line and his lips twitch uncontrollably. Sometimes his feet kick in an instinctive defence, as if his Uncle were trying to lock cuffs around his ankles. 

But the steps trail further away and Harry thinks it's safe to open an eye to peek at his surroundings. He's anything but safe when he sees her body in front of him with blood staining the flooring like port wine. Her face's lifeless, her mouth open like a gasping fish and her eyes black, blown like the gunshot to her head. 

Harry pierces out in a scream and he immediately panics. His eyes well up in tears and he can't hear himself. He can't control himself. He scratches out for the pillow underneath his head and holds it tight. He can't feel Louis behind him. He can't feel anything but panic and shame and that uncontrollable feeling of vulnerability that has overpowered him a thousand too many times. He trembles and lets his tears fall violently down his cheeks and the salt water stings the scratches from days before.

He can't see Louis. He can't feel anything. He's frozen and he's under a state of shell shock. His face is tight with lockjaw, his eyes are still wide open and he can't even blink those tears. They fall without aid. Harry claws at Louis' arms without knowingly realizing that he's got someone holding him close and gazing at him calmly. Louis' eyes are calm. Louis is calm. Louis is okay. Everything is okay.

He can't hear him. Louis is talking but Harry can't hear a word he's saying. He can't remember where he is. His nails are biting into Louis' skin; the pain isn't written on Louis' face, however. He's still calm and he's instigating something. He's hiccuping with his breaths and he's swallowing his safety every few seconds. Louis is nodding to him now. Harry still can't hear him.

His senses are blocked. He can hardly see through his murky vision. His hands are just as terrified as Harry's quivering mouth. His ears are blocked and whether Louis' voice be sweet and tender, Harry can't hear it. His nose is blocked and his mouth is sown together by fifteen cable ties. Harry can't sense that he's safe, not until something comes back and soothes him through his panic. Whenever that may be.

He didn't realize that he was glaring at the opposite side of the room again until a jerk of his head forces him to look at Louis again. His face is close and his hands are curled around Harry's shoulders and they squeeze him into reality. He's talking softly, Harry can hear murmurs. There's the voice- the voice of that accommodating angel that be Louis Tomlinson. Harry can hear him. Harry can feel how his hands rub into his tense muscles and how the blood finally circulates correctly around his system. Harry can feel his mouth closing, his jaw unlocking, and how the cable ties are cut to release his trapped lips.

And so, finally, after twenty minutes of panic, Harry is tranquil. 

Louis gathers Harry into a cuddle, holding the tired boy in his arms and digging his thumbs into his back. Harry continues to breathe out paranoia. He looks to the right and sees that there's nothing there anymore. No body. No blood. It was his imagination. It was only his imagination.

"You're okay, Harry," soothes Louis, smoothing his hand over the bumpy back of Harry's. He can feel Louis' hands contour his bones which stick out predominantly under his porcelain skin. He sucks in a harsh breath, hiccuping mid way and gulping down the excess stress he's radiating. Louis coos softly, rocking them back and forth in a slow rhythm and moments later, Harry was calm and resting his cheek against Louis' shoulder. He's going to fall asleep because finally he found his safety.

"Lou," he calls, his voice thick with innocence. Louis tries pulling back to listen with his eyes, but Harry clutches him in close to never remove the feeling of warmth near his chest. "I-I'm tired, Lou."

Louis' hand finds his hair and he can feel the pawing of his fingers brush against his curls. "Do you want to shower first. Something to eat? Maybe get--"

"N-No," he stammers in response. "I-I really want... I want some sleep."

Louis nods against him. Harry senses he understands perfectly. There's a slight hesitation when Louis tries to stand up. Harry's still got a monkey grip on him. He stands with Harry still hooked around him and twists himself around to pick Harry up, a hand underneath his back and an arm looped under his knee joints. There's no struggle on Louis' face. He's smiling softly and leaves Harry content against his chest. 

He's already dozing off by the time his back hits a mattress and Harry almost panics again. But the mattress isn't firm; it's soft, like Louis' touch. His head's on a pillow which cradles him perfectly, and the blankets make him feel weightless. Harry blinks his eyes open to see the room is completely white. It's probably heaven. There's an angel in front of him who's smiling and has a voice as melodic as a harp. He's tucking a few strands of matted hair away from his face and he presses a soft kiss above his left eyebrow and tells Harry he'll be back in a few minutes. He promises that. Harry makes sure he crosses his heart. Louis does with endeared eyes as he watches the childish boy. He leaves.

Once he closes his eyes, he's gone into a dark sleep. It's pained with misery and the same blood and gun he saw on the floor earlier, the same scream and body. He deserves the pain he feels. He let her go. He should have done something. He's the reason why she's on the floor. He's the reason why she's dead with a bullet in her head and he isn't.

He deserves a heart of cruel, powerless nothingness.

****

Louis should have expected Eleanor sitting at the kitchen table with a tea slotted between her hands. Unimpressed, Louis rolls his eyes and steps forward to sit at the table. He sits across from her; away from her. She doesn't look anymore content than last night.

Louis hisses out his first words of the morning to his wife. "You don't have to make a huge deal about it."

"You know, if he wasn't here, we could have had some pretty wild sex in the shower this morning," she barks. Her words are so terribly unnecessary. Louis laughs wickedly, but Eleanor only glares at the hysteric man. "Stop this, Louis."

"You can't have expected me to leave him like that," Louis says. "If you thought that I'd come to you the moment I saw you enter the lounge room when I was comforting him, I'll start laughing again."

Eleanor deadpans her glare to Louis and snobbishly sticks her nose in the air in disgust. "He doesn't need comforting--"

"You know how I was at high school, Eleanor," he hisses seriously. "You know how I was when I panicked about mum. You helped me then. Why don't you help Harry out as well?"

"Harry doesn't need our help--"

"You're talking bullshit!" Louis snaps aggressively. Eleanor squints at her ignorant husband. "Don't you dare say this situation isn't any more different than the one I once had. He had a panic attack. I don't know why, and I don't think I want to know why, and by the way he was holding me, El. Something bad has happened to him once. I just know it."

Eleanor doesn't seem convinced. "It's completely different to the situation you had. Your mum was in hospital, Lou. Harry probably panicked because he didn't get a first class meal while on the streets or something."

But she's laughing. His wife is laughing at some type of sick hunger joke of a poor young boy who doesn't look to be over 16. He's skin and bones, Louis felt his ribs with the slight brush of his hand. The boy is hungry, sick, homeless and now he's being teased by his fucking wife.

Louis almost loses it. "Where's your fucking respect?"

Eleanor's laugh gradually leaves but she's still left with a shit-eating smirk upon her face. "Oh c'mon, Lou, lighten up. It's just a joke--"

"Don't joke about those things," he backfires. Eleanor seethes.

"Like you can talk. You called me constipated yesterday and expected me to lighten up a little, when you bring a boy into the house and let him stay on a free plan without my consent. What next, Louis, gonna feed him while he sits on the bonnet of a new porche?"

Louis breathes out angrily and crosses his arms over his chest, looking to his left - away from Eleanor's eyes. "I can't believe you're actually treating him like this."

"I'm not treating him like anything--"

"You're talking shit behind his back!" Louis shouts. "What happened to my loving wife? The one that supported me when I needed it? What happened to the one I married, hm? The one that told me she'd have a million and one kids with me as long as we both shared the same amount of love between them both? What happened to those promises, El?"

Eleanor softens her eyes at Louis. "They weren't promises, Louis--"

"You said them in your fucking vows!" Louis barks. "So if they weren't promises, what were they? When you said you'd love me unconditionally, did you really mean it or did you just say that so it looked good on the video tape?"

Louis hates being assertive, but he knows he gets the point across. What he didn't intend to do is make the poor girl cry. Her elbow is against the table and her hand is over her eyes. She's sobbing softly. Louis, for the ten years he's known Eleanor, knows that the girl is strong and she'd do anything to fight for her opinion. She never cries. She didn't cry at the wedding. She didn't cry at her grandma's funeral when she died last year. She's so strong, always has been. She's stronger than Louis, at the least. 

But she's crying. Hard. Louis feels absolutely terrible.

He stands up from his seat and walks to her. The least he can do is at least try and console her. A fight between them means nothing. Never does it mean anything. He loves her with all his heart and has done so since he was fourteen. He continues to love her. He told her this after they started dating at sixteen. He told her every day until he proposed at eighteen, after their high school graduation. He told her twice a day every day after that, until the wedding at nineteen. Then, things started to fall apart.

Louis didn't expect it to turn out like this. He only married early because his mum was diagnosed with leukemia. He wanted to make sure she saw him become successfully married, unlike herself. She hadn't been disappointed with him but there wasn't a time in her life Louis saw that she was genuinely proud. She's still alive now. Her treatment went well. Louis helped pay for it, and that's probably why Eleanor's so tight with money still. Especially after the cyclone. The roof is the only part of the house that's damaged and thankfully nothing else is.

But even with the great turn out of his mum and the marriage he couldn't be happier with, Louis knows there's something missing. It might be the fact he can't get a signed record label with his music. He's called so many people to check him out and there's never been the opportunity for him to fly out to Sydney to try with Capitol Records. Eleanor calls him out for it so much that Louis is really thinking about dropping out and taking the job down the street as a check out clerk. 

Louis never wants to fail. He doesn't want to disappoint anyone. He's so determined to achieve, but so far, nothing has been done to the point where Louis is glowing and will continue to glow for the next several years. Nothing.

He thinks Eleanor might be the answer to everything. The brown haired beauty he's loved for so very long might be his answer to eternal happiness, but Louis can't be sure. It should be the warning sign that even after ten years of knowing her, and seven of those being officially together, that Eleanor isn't the key to eternal happiness.

But Louis doesn't know this, of course. He sees things and takes them for what they are. So when a sad Eleanor is in need for someone's comfort, Louis is there to provide it. When Eleanor needs a kiss, he's there to provide it. When Eleanor needs a bit of loving, he's there to provide it on the kitchen table as quiet as they can so they don't wake Harry up with those obnoxious moans. When Eleanor taps his bare bum and tells him to help her clean the front and backyard, he's there to follow her around with a sheepish smile. 

Secretly and discretely, Louis tells her he's going to make lunch with the leftover bread and few ingredients they have. Instead, he sees Harry in the room, still fast asleep with his head tucked in close with the pillow. He almost looks as if he's hugging it, so Louis replaces it and kisses Harry on the nose once he's between his arms. Harry peeks at him with a weak eye open and he smiles gingerly at the blue eyed man. 

"Hi," Louis whispers. Harry purrs back, a little disgruntled from his wake up, but Louis makes sure that emotion's removed with a kiss or two or seven between his eyebrows. "Gonna make some lunch for all of us. Do you want me to bring it in here for you? Eleanor and I might have it outside. We're doing a bit of clean up and might help out the neighbours."

Harry doesn't respond but only looks at Louis with his beautifully sparkled eyes. Louis smiles at how wonderfully green they are. Peridot gems, almost. Louis somehow wonders how they look so innocent, but frail at the same time. They shattered during his panic attack this morning, but now they're just as satisfied as they were when Louis held him for the first time.

"I'll bring it in then," he answers for Harry. "Have a good sleep?"

"Y-Yeah," he whispers, his voice grainy and quite desolate. "Can you stay this time, please?"

It'll be a mistake if Louis stayed. He doesn't want Eleanor to be upset. She's probably waiting for those sandwiches already, maybe wondering why Louis is having a hard time making a simple ham and cheese snack. 

It might be a mistake if Louis left, though, because what if Harry panics again? Without a doubt he wouldn't be able to pull himself through it without fitting into some type of weary unconsciousness. Louis doesn't want to him to panic. Louis doesn't want Harry to be hurt. Some child isn't allowed to be hurt because of him. 

If Eleanor has a dislike for Harry, then that's fine. Louis wouldn't give two shits, because he cares for Harry. He once cared for his sisters when his mum was sick, so is this any different? Sure, it's a grown up boy who came out of nowhere but the situation afoot is nothing worse than treating two noisy twins, a boy-band obsessed ten year old, and hormonal teenager.

Harry's quiet, and sweet, and interesting. He's mysterious. It's not because he just showed up in the shed for some stupid reason, or because of his random panic attack this morning. He's mysterious because he's all sorts of emotions and feelings bottled up into one character. Louis wants to individualize all of them and pinpoint at each one. He wants to know about him. He's tentative about him. He's urging to find out more.

Louis is beside him for the next hour and a half. He never knew it'd be so entertaining to watch Harry sleep. It's curious as to why Eleanor hasn't bothered trying to find out where he is, but it's blatant that she already knew once he didn't appear at the front after ten minutes.

It's confirmed when he sees her, when he finally removed himself from the cuddly boy. She's not disappointed or angry. Not mad at all. She's throwing the debris from the backyard around everywhere and creating more mess than removing it, but she's definitely not mad.

She sleeps on the couch that night and Louis stays in with Harry. She's definitely not mad.


	4. Chapter 4

People are fascinating, Louis has found. Some are more fascinating than others. Take Harry, for example. When Louis looks at him, all he can do is wonder. Not only does he speculate about where he came from or about the marks on his arms, but also the teenager's past. Anyone who has a panic attack like he did or is as ignorant about the world around them like he is must have an intricate and possibly even a dark past. Of course he could be wrong - he considers this - but nine out of ten times, that is the case. Louis knows from personal experience. Maybe his past isn't as gloomy or as scarring as Harry's own, but he remembers the panic attack and the long nights.

What Louis doesn't understand is why he struggles as much as he does. He doesn't want to push Harry to say anything he feels uneasy talking about (he has made that clear to him) yet he is eager to know everything there is to know about him. Harry is staying in their house and one day could be considered family. If he is going to stay in his house, it'd only be right if he knew more about him.

Eleanor, on the other hand, Louis can read like a book. It's been that way since the day he met her. She came from a middle class family, never hid any crucial secrets from him, and was a simple girl, supporting him in all he did...

Except when it comes to his music. Louis can't get over the fact that Eleanor isn't the girl she once was - the girl he fell in love with. Now she definitely wasn't, being disgruntled by the arrival of Harry. It's true what they say; people change. Since him being booked to play at the biggest club in town (which occurred two months prior and he never got booked there again), this has been the most exciting thing that has happened to Louis. Even so, Eleanor is acting as if the younger boy is a criminal.

Harry is anything, but a criminal - as far as Louis knew. But if so, he would be the sweetest, most compassionate criminal in the world. The way Harry elegantly took the ham and cheese sandwich in his hands said it all. Like if he holds it too roughly it would crumble to pieces is how he hold it. Large, yet gentle as a newborn baby are his hands. Louis watches them often as he often watches Harry.

Fascinating. That is the perfect word to describe the innocent teenage boy. Not only is it in the way he moves, but in the way he sees the world. Harry knows very little of the world. All he recalls of it is what he knew as a child. Perhaps if almost everyone saw the world now as they saw it as a kid, the world would be a more serene, beautiful place.

"It isn't that special of a meal, but we don't have much food at the moment," apologizes Louis as they sit at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches and conversing quietly. Eleanor is in the other room, getting herself ready to leave to go help out the neighbors who need assistance picking up debris from the storm. "I'm sure you don't mind."

Quickly Harry shook his head. "I don't mind at all," he spoke with his mouth full of food. "I have it a lot."

Louis smiles endearingly at the boy with the not-so-polite table manners. To most people the sight would be gross - mashed up, slimy food visible as a person talks. This is Harry, though, and for some odd reason, it almost seems as if he doesn't know any better. Little does Louis know, Harry actually doesn't know any better. Nobody taught him any different - not that he can gather, that is. 

Continuously chuckling at him, Louis holds out a white paper napkin. He doesn't take it, however. Harry goggles at the squared paper in Louis' small hand almost as if it was an object you'd find on an exotic island. Louis only watches as Harry stares at it. The blue eyes man is so baffled by the green eyed boy's bewilderness enough that he wiped the mayonnaise off the top of his lip for him.

"Like a paper wash rag..." Harry whispers to himself, hoping it'd only be for his ears to hear. The fact that he doesn't know what a simple napkin is causes even more befuddlement for the man. "Where is your wife?"

Right on cue of Harry speaking those words, Eleanor comes to the entrance of the kitchen, refusing to enter.

"I'll be back soon," she says in a phony sweet voice once her eyes land on Harry. "If you would, Lou, go onto town and buy some food and such, please?"

With a cheeky grin, Louis nods. He jumps to his feet and walks to her. To her forehead he presses a soft kiss and hugs her small frame into his chest, but in return she gives him no affection. She only smiles at the man before leaving the house completely. The plastered grin that was on his own face disappeared once she is out of his sight. 

"She doesn't like me, does she?" sadly murmured Harry from the table. Louis turns his head to him, a small smile appearing on his face again at the sight of the boy. "I don't blame her. Sometimes I don't like me either."

In pure shock, Louis nears the boy before sitting at the table with him. "I don't think it's that she dislike you," softly says Louis, setting his hand on Harry's, "she doesn't like visitors is what I think it might be."

It is a good guess. Possibly that is the reason she doesn't want Harry there. There is still the chance that Eleanor, for whatever reason, doesn't like the young boy. Louis sure hasn't found a reason to hate him.

Picking up both of their empty plates, he walks them to the sink, leaving Harry for a few moments to think over his words. Even after he said these words that were kind of a comfort to Harry, he feels that Eleanor doesn't want him there and the thought bothered him a lot. Nevertheless, it isn't anything new for him to feel unwanted.

"Do want to go into town with me?" Louis asks, gyrating back to Harry and resting his hands gently on his shoulders. Harry pivots his head back and gazes at the man standing behind him. Right back down at Harry, the man smiles invitingly.

Harry nods, resting one of his hands on Louis' that continues to lay there on his shoulder. "I'd love to."

"Would you like new clothes to wear first? Yours are pretty filthy," says Louis, taking the hand that is on top of his. Adornment fills Harry's face when Louis makes such a move.

The smoothness of Louis' hand, the caress of his skin against his that Harry can't get used to sends a tingling feeling through his veins. It is like fire in the bloodstream. Just a simple touch feels like an explosion of chemicals and dopamine bursting throughout his body.

"Will your clothes fit me?" questions Harry as Louis pulls him from his seat, hand in his even now.

"You're really gaunt and shorter than me," Louis replies while guiding him down the narrow hall towards the bedroom he shares with El.

Every detail around him, Harry observes as they walk - the pictures on the walls of Louis and Eleanor, family pictures, and a picture in particular that caught Harry's eyes.

"They'll be big on you if anything... What are you looking at?"

The picture, Louis spots him examining causes a giant grin to sprout. Hand in hand, they stand directly in front of the photo, inspecting it closely.

In the photo is Louis in red pants and stripes, something he wouldn't be caught dead wearing now. Around him are three other guys with their arms over one another's shoulders. They appear to be about the same age as Louis. They're on some of stage, spotlight on them. Microphone stands are set up, guitar over the one boys' shoulder. Harry surveys that Louis looked joyfully radiant, like whatever he was doing really satisfied him and would be something he would miss if he ever stopped doing it. That is exactly the case.

"What is this?" asks Harry, turning to Louis. Away from the picture Louis has trouble taking his eyes, although.

He remembers that day like the back of his hand. The screams, the girls, the adrenalin that rushed through his body... it all came back in flashback every time he glances at the picture. When he ponders on those days, all he can do is miss it. All he can do is wish he had those days back.

"Who are they?" Harry questions Louis again, poking lightly at the framed photo.

Smiling fondly, the older man finally replies, "My old band... We were performing at a theater in London. We never got that popular or big like we hoped we would. We just performed in small clubs. This was our biggest performance as well as our last unfortunately."

"Why aren't you in the band anymore?" further quizzes harry, squeezing at Louis' hand, attempting to gain his full attention.

"It wasn't working out," Louis says. His eyes scan the photo, landing on one person in particular with dark brown hair and tattoos up his arm. Out of all the three boys, that was his best friend. "One of them fell in love and everything changed."

"Everything?" Harry inquires in disbelief. How is it possible for love to change everything? Is love really that powerful? Harry doesn't know about the love in the movies. In fact, he barely knows about the movies. Or love.

"Everything," Louis confirms. "It changed everything in his life when he fell in love and she was the center of his universe... Yet when he fell in love, nothing changed. I still had the same motives and my perspective on the world didn't change like his did."

"Why did things change when he fell in love?" asks Harry.

"When most people fall in love, like Zayn... that was his name," Louis says, facing Harry finally who is intrigued by his every syllable of his every word, "they fall in love with that person like if they lose them, they would have nothing. Nothing. Isn't that mad?"

Subtly tracing patterns into Louis' hand, Harry nods although he doesn't actually understand. Louis' voice, he likes to listen to, and all of these words spoken with the voice he likes to listen to only add to his understanding of the world. So although he doesn't understand, he is learning to.

"Maybe you can fall in love like that with Eleanor again..." Harry considers while Louis stares at him in awe. Regardless of this awe, Louis shakes his head, the whole conversation becoming tensing for him to talk about since he doesn't believe such love. Not any more obvious could he have made it.

"Despite what all the love sick fools say," an agitated Louis seethes, "I don't think it's even the slightest bit possible to fall in love with one person over and over again. It doesn't seem possible."

Taken aback is the younger boy when Louis' voice becomes less tender and sweet as it usually is. Harry makes a mental note to try and not cross the line with him when it comes to such a topic - although Harry wants to taken in all the information he can about it.

Changing the subject, Harry whispers, "So, those clothes?" Louis instantly calms, acknowledging that into his hand Harry is tracing patterns with his pointer finger up to this time. Such an odd thing for him to do, but it certainly made a grin replace his formally aggravated expression.

"Right this way," sweetly says Louis, taking Harry's hand completely in his once more and leading him into his bedroom only feet away. Simply decorated is the small bedroom, neutral colored walls and wooden furniture. The curtains are drawn and the bed is neatly made. Nothing is too extraordinary about the bedroom, but Harry found it as one of the most homely places on Earth.

He peers over at the bed in which Louis and Eleanor lay their heads every night, probably wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms. that must be a pleasurable place to be in, Harry supposes. That must be a pleasurable place to fall into a slumber in the strong arms of someone who loves you. Falling asleep in someone else's arms in general is a place he wishes he could go more often.

Detaching his hand from Harry's Louis moves across the room to his dresser. Through his second drawer down, he searches, moving clothes around to try and find one shirt in particular. The younger boy stands in the same spot, watching attentively.

In victory, Louis smiles, pulling the black and red flannel shirt that was a bit small on Louis, but will fit Harry perfectly. Out of his closet he finds a pair of jeans. He sets them both on the bed, sending a grin in Harry's direction.

"We'll have to go shopping for clothes soon... That's if you don't have any somewhere?"

This is an odd question for him to ask, knowing that Harry has nowhere to go. What makes Louis think he'd have any clothes? Although, Louis barely knows a thing about the boy.

"I don't... but you don't have to do that," Harry shakes his head, not wanting him to spend money on him. On him? Is he that special?

"I'd do anything for you."

He is that special.

At him Louis smiles and that smile and the words he spoke, as every word he spoke, made affection flash through his bones like he got shot by lightning. It is like nothing else matters in this moment with him. It isn't his past or the future that is significant in that very instant. Harry gazes into Louis' smiling eyes and when he does, he receives a glimpse of what Zayn might have been feeling. If this man didn't come into his life, where would he be? What would he have? The answer is needless to say...

but if you do not understand, the answer is nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

His clothes feel a little itchy, maybe a little too clean for his liking. He’s tempted to maybe throw himself out of the car to roll around in the trash and debris in order to feel like his normal self. They’re stuck at some faulty traffic lights at the moment, so a quick ponder around the area to scrub up his clothes wouldn’t be such a bad idea. That is if Louis would unlock the door.

 

The city is the scene from an apocalyptic nightmare. Trees scatter the area, blocking roads with power lines tangled through them. Louis has had to make three detour turns and countless swerves to avoid hitting the aftermath of Cyclone Yasi. Harry didn’t think it was that bad. But that bad to Harry was like getting no food one day, being smacked and thrown to the cold concrete, and getting a restless amount sleep on his shit, bug infested mattress.

He’s had no experience of the outside world, and he’s sure Louis didn’t miss the face he created when he started the car 20 minutes earlier. He’s still shocked that he’s moving at 40 kilometres per hour on a flat road. Like… this is a miracle. He’s in a car. He hasn’t been in a car since… forever, he thinks. He doesn’t remember what a car feels like, or smells like, or sounds like. It’s comfy, there’s a faint smell of peppermint, and the noise from the engine is smoother than Louis’ shaven jawline.

Louis told him that they’re heading to some supply place where evacuees and emergency packages are held. Louis has been keeping up some quiet conversation between them. Nothing too forward or bitter. Just some friendly get-to-know-you type of thing. Harry asks more about Louis’ old band, and his work now, and he replies in short and with the same answers as earlier in the hallway. Even with little experience of social contact, Harry knows that contortion of discomfort and vexation twisting on Louis’ face when he answers isn’t pleasant. He shuts his questioning mouth.

Harry can’t help to wonder why he’s so agitated about his past.

But he guesses he’s no different. Louis keeps asking about what his life was like before he stumbled into the Tomlinson’s shed a couple of days before. Harry answers in soft mumbles, probably incoherent to Louis. Louis keens with interest, however. He doesn’t shut up.

"When you ran away," Louis starts, again, ”like… why?”

Like why? Why? Is Harry really willing to tell Louis absolutely everything about his past? What could he say? His uncle beat him, burned him, maimed him, kept him in the basement for 9 years, all until the point he found that ultimate chance to escape and he used it? How the fuck is he going to sound so subtle about this?

"I just did," Harry answers. "I did… my family didn’t take enough care of me, so I-I thought I could take better care of myself." He looks down to his thighs, and his clothes begin to itch again. He runs his nails down his sweat-pant covered legs, shifting uncomfortably with a grunt slipping from his mouth. 

"I can see," Louis murmurs, eyes still focused on the road. "When was the last time you had a proper meal, H?"

Harry can’t remember when. “Last…” and with the way Louis’ eyes bore into him, he’s probably expecting a different answer to, “year.”

"Last year?" Harry knows it’s been longer than that, but he nods solemnly instead. It halts Louis to a stop in the middle of the road. "Babe…"

He’s shaking his head, eyes closed with his head hanging low. Harry focuses on the elder, confused. Louis huffs out a heavy breath before taking his hands from the steering wheel, resting one in his lap and the other in… oh.

"Please tell me you’re kidding," Louis whispers. Harry is kidding. It’s been longer. There’s no answer from Harry, and Louis’ hand grips tighter around Harry’s. It takes a while for Harry to process to lock his fingers back with him; the feeling is still quite alien to him. "No wonder you’re so skinny, love."

He can’t think of what to say back, something that Louis would like to hear, that is. “I’m fine.”

"Harry," he pronounces sternly. "You’re not fine." Louis tucks his thumb under Harry’s, keeping his eyes attentive on his horribly clean face. "I’m going to cook you something tonight, yeah? Nice and warm for you. Make sure you get your belly filled properly, alright?"

He likes the sound of that, or more so the sweet voice Louis holds. “Okay.”

"And we’re going to get into the shower tonight, and you’re gonna be all clean," Louis chirps. "Then we can cuddle in for a while, stay warm. Eleanor will be on the other side. We’ll hug you all tight and the such."

Harry smiles. “Okay.”

"Okay?" Louis asks again, restarting up the car and hearing Harry whisper another okay. ”Keep that smile on your face, sunshine.”

It’s probably dangerous for Louis to drive with his hand still laced with Harry’s, but the 23 year old seems to know what he’s doing. The supplies from the warehouse doesn’t look to be enough, just a few bags of canned food and substantial goods to keep people alive. It’s still luxury to Harry. Like… rice. Rice he hasn’t had in forever. Louis takes the box of water bottles and carries it to the car, before taking the sack of food and throwing that into the boot also.

There’s so many people inside, all of them distraught from the disaster. Most of them look as shattered as the glass windows. Louis doesn’t say a word to any of these evacuees, instead, taking Harry’s hand and walking them both back to the car.

The drive home is silent. Harry doesn’t feel like initiating a conversation right now. He doesn’t feel like doing anything right now, but staring at the pretty angel beside him. Harry could have been in that warehouse right now, alone. Instead, he has Louis. Louis is with him. Louis didn’t throw him away. Louis is keeping him safe with promises and hugs. He’s safe.

All the things Louis told him weren’t just said words. He actually does cook dinner for Harry, and it’s rice mixed with a bit of the canned tuna from the supplies sack. He cooks it over the stove in front of Harry, sitting hungry at the dinner table. Eleanor’s no where to be seen, but Harry doesn’t care. Louis doesn’t seem to take much notice in where his wife is either.

Finishing dinner, he serves three bowls and calls for Eleanor. She doesn’t come running out immediately, instead, waiting for the two boys to be finish with their dinner before grabbing her chilled bowl and eating alone. Harry doesn’t eat much, but he’s full. Louis had watched him while he shakily spooned the food into his mouth, and supported him with their ankles hooked under the table. Harry pushes his bowl forward when he’s done, and Louis washes up for the two of them.

Night’s closing in and by the time Harry is set to shower, the rooms are dark. Louis lights up a few candles to place inside the bathroom, but still, Harry’s afraid to shower in the dark. 

Louis sighs and looks behind him. He can hear the faint sound of cutlery clicking, so Eleanor’s still eating soundly in the kitchen. Louis looks back to Harry and brushes the hair from his forehead, smiling gingerly. 

"I’ll run the bath for you, and I can wash you if you’d like." Harry is a bit taken aback. He doesn’t want to shower in the dark, but he doesn’t want Louis to watch him. Especially when he’s in the full nude.

But then again, it’s dark, so Louis wouldn’t see. Louis wouldn’t care nevertheless.

Harry nods reluctantly before Louis kisses between his eyebrows, heading into the bathroom and spinning the taps. The bath fills quickly, and he’s calling Harry in as soon as the water fills halfway. The candles are keeping the room dim, and now Harry feels comfortable to shrug out of his clothes and feel the warm water on his skin. 

"Do you want to… like, keep your briefs on while you’re in the water?" Louis asks, and Harry can see even in the obscure lighting that he’s blushing considerably pink on the cheeks. "Y-You don’t need… I understand if you’re uneasy, H—"

"I’m fine," Harry says confidently. "I-I’m not that shy," but he is. He may, or may not, be doing this to impress Louis. He doesn’t want to seem like a bashful loser. 

Louis turns around to keep Harry in private. So he changes out of his clothes and steps one foot into the water, hissing loudly. Louis asks if he’s okay, still faced away from the nude boy. Harry doesn’t answer, but moves himself more and more into the bath before settling down, the water coming above his belly button. 

"I’m okay, Lou," he calls, and Louis turns from his spot and kneels down beside the porcelain bath. He smiles to Harry, who’s already began scrubbing the water up and down his legs. The water is turning filthy. 

Louis finds some type of jug and scoops the water to run down Harry’s bony back. He can feel Louis’ fingers linger on some of his ribs, and that’s something to expect. Harry knows he’s too skinny. He knows that he’s unhealthy. Anyone with eyes could see that. He lets Harry rub himself up and down with soap, Louis washes him without comment, laughing every so often Harry would sneeze or groan softly at the warmth washing the grime away. He’s got shampoo and conditioner in his hair by the end, and Louis cleans that away with a hand over his eyes to make sure none of the runback gets inside them. 

He gives Harry a fluffy towel once he’s done, minding the nudity of the boy again by turning away. He unplugs the bath and watches as the grey water whirlpools away. Harry’s already dry by the time Louis brings them to the bedroom, where Louis finds him clothes to change into. Simple sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt. Harry thanks him and changes in the dark, while Louis visits Eleanor who is, in fact, still alone in the kitchen.

Harry can hear them fight. He’s not oblivious to it. They’re yelling like maniacs, but he can’t make out the words behind the closed door. He doesn’t think he wants to either. Eleanor sounds like she’s crying, or maybe it’s Louis. He can hardly tell. Harry’s changed and sitting on the edge of the bed when Louis comes back into the room, and, well, his cheeks are stained glossy.

"Lou?" He would have said something by now, but Louis is slipping out of his t-shirt and… Christ he’s fit. He’s changing freely, as if Harry’s some type of hidden object. A soft Louis trots to the bed, now in baggy pyjama pants and top clear of cover. Harry doesn’t move from the edge. He thinks maybe he should sleep in the lounge tonight, give Louis and Eleanor the space he’s come between. 

Within seconds, there’s two legs on either side of him and Louis’ arms curl around his waist. Harry can feel his chest warm on his back. His chin is cradled upon his shoulder and his breathing is slow. Harry relaxes between his arms. He’s always safe around Louis. Louis makes him safe.

"W-Was that…" Harry mumbles, too afraid to say anything to Louis. "Was that fight about me?"

Louis’ breathing jumps a bit. “No, love.”

Harry could prod him, maybe get the truth out, because Louis and Eleanor wouldn’t fight about anything else at this given time. Or maybe their relationship really was in trouble. It’s too early for anything just now.

"Please don’t worry about her, H," Louis says. "She’s a bit of a pain when these things happen. It might be because of the cyclone, but please don’t think that this fighting is because of you." But that’s just it. Harry knows the fighting is about him. Louis wouldn’t be trying to comfort him if it wasn’t. 

"Do you want me to leave, Lou?" Harry asks. "I-I can leave if it’s making… if Eleanor doesn’t want me here—"

"I told you before," Louis interrupts. "I don’t care if Eleanor doesn’t like you as much as I do, H. I want to take care of you, and that’s all you should be worrying about. I don’t want you running around all over the place like you did before you came to me."

Harry sighs. “I can take care of myself—”

"You can’t, Harry," Louis scolds. "Look at yourself. You’re awfully skinny, you’re scrawny, you’re lost. You told me you hadn’t had a proper meal since last year, and you hadn’t showered with anything but a wet rag. You can’t tell me you can take care of yourself!"

Louis’ right. Without the aid of Louis, he’d be lost in the city right now. If he’d gone to another house, he’d be left with nothing, but he’s got Louis. Louis wants to help him. Louis… cares for him. Louis likes him. Louis wants to take care of him.

"I’m sorry, yeah? Eleanor isn’t taking this as well as I thought she would," Louis continues. "It’s only day two, H, she’ll get used to it. I promise."

Louis’ arms are secure around him, hands curled around the opposite arm and locked into place. Harry’s not going to go anywhere, neither is Louis going to let him go anywhere. He’s so protective. Why? Why is he like this? Maybe he’s clucky. Maybe he misses someone of his own. Maybe Louis is just as lost as Harry, but Harry’s the compass. 

”I’m staying in here with you tonight. El said she’ll take the couch again,” Louis whispers to him. “You tired?”

"Y-Yeah," he admits, softly leaning back into Louis’ touch. Louis soon brings the both of them under the covers and keeps Harry under his arm. His back is to Louis and he can feel his cold feet near his calves. Louis pets his fluffy hair. It hasn’t felt this light on the top of his head in years. He hasn’t felt this light weight and elated in years. 

He purrs to sleep and Louis doesn’t let his arm move away from Harry’s body. Harry can feel it there in his sleep. Every time Louis would shuffle in his dreams, Harry would wake and make sure Louis is still there. He’s afraid he’ll slip out of bed and trot to go see Eleanor. Harry doesn’t want him to go see Eleanor. He wants Louis next to him while he sleeps. He doesn’t want anyone else next to him while he sleeps.

That’s just what Louis does; stays next to him for the next ten hours of sleep they get. Louis wakes first and when Harry blinks his eyes open Louis is the first thing he sees. That’s all he wants. Louis kisses between his eyebrows and smiles, muttering a sweet good morning and asking about breakfast. Harry doesn’t care what’s available. He just wants something in his tummy.

They both walk out of the bedroom, Louis’ hand in his, and pass Eleanor in the lounge. She’s still sound asleep, and both would like to keep it that way. Louis cooks him some porridge, apologizing for the flavourless shit they have to deal with until the power comes back on. He eats nevertheless - and it’s still heaven in Harry’s mouth. 

It reads ten in the morning. Harry’s not changed out of his night clothes and he doesn’t plan to unless Louis finds something for him. Louis is occupying him in the bedroom again, carding his hands through Harry’s locks and pinching every little feature on his face with a giggle leaving his lips every so often. Louis is cute, and he doesn’t really know why he’d be calling a 23 year old man cute. But Louis is. It must be the reason why Eleanor fell in love with him.

Eleanor’s in the room moments later, and if Harry’s honest, he’s frightened. She tells Louis the neighbours needed a hand with some of the metal debris in the front yard. Louis is off on his feet within seconds, not bothering to change out of his clothes and heading out. Eleanor remains in the room.

Harry doesn’t want to look at her. Eleanor is scary. One word and it might set her off. Her eyes are sharp and vicious and Harry doesn’t know why Louis married her. Eleanor doesn’t look like the Eleanor in the pictures. She’s intimidating and arrogant. Harry is nervous under his skin.

"D-Do you… have a problem with me staying here?" Harry asks timidly. He doesn’t look up to those snake eyes, too terrified. 

"Where do you get that idea from?" Eleanor questions, her voice as sweet as Louis’, but Harry’s sure it’s an act. "Sweetie, I don’t mind you here one little bit."

She’s over by Harry’s side, an arm around his shoulders. She smells pretty. “Are you sure? Because you and Lou fight a lot and… and I don’t want you guys to be… to be upset because I’m here.”

"Darling, Louis and I have little arguments sometimes but they mean nothing," Eleanor reassures. "I love him, and he loves me, that’s it. Because he does, that means he will never leave me for something like a stupid fight. He loves me.”

The emphasis in her voice makes Harry wonder if she’s trying to imply something. “I like your family a lot,” Harry admits. “I can see why you love Louis.”

She nods and smiles. “Harry, you understand something, right?”

"Understand what?"

"We love having you here," Eleanor starts, "but Louis doesn’t work hard enough to be able to pay for all of us to live together, you know? It’s a little hard for him now since his music isn’t getting him anywhere, and even I have my doubts that he won’t be able to score a job any time soon that’ll support three of us."

Harry’s breath falters. “Oh.”

"Do you know what I mean? I know it’s going to be hard for all of us, and if we need to make decisions to best support us, you’d understand, wouldn’t you?"

He really doesn’t understand. “D-Do you want me to leave soon?”

"We don’t want you to leave, Harry," she says. "We wouldn’t kick you out on the streets, we’d be inconsiderate to do such a thing. We would take you to a foster home, like… where you could live with a proper family that wants to take very good care of you."

Harry blinks to the girl. “But Louis said he wants to take good care of me?”

She looks agitated. “He’s just saying that.”

"W-What?" Harry says sharply. "He w-wouldn’t just say that. He said he’d take good care of me!"

"Harry, please," Eleanor huffs sternly. "I know Louis, and I don’t mean to be rude, but I know him better than you. He’s a sweet thing, he is, but he sometimes says things he doesn’t mean. He does it to be nice."

Harry’s left speechless. “Oh.”

Eleanor nods and confronts him fully. “So, what I’m saying is that maybe there’s another family that can care for you. Louis doesn’t have the money to support you, Harry. You could go to a rich family! Someone with brothers and sisters, and you could go to school and have high quality meals… doesn’t that sounds great?”

Honestly, no. ”Y-Yeah.”

"See?" Eleanor smiles. "Louis and I can’t do all that for you, so if we find someone, we’ll let you know and then you can live a better life! All happy!"

She leaves after Harry nods and forces a grin. He’s not happy. No, he’s not happy at all. Louis wouldn’t say shit to him like that. He wouldn’t pretend to make Harry happy for the sake of keeping the boy okay. Louis is genuine. Louis cares.

Well… that’s what he thought, anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Something is taking him over. Something wild and courageous is taking him over and he can't contain it any longer. He thought Louis cared. he thought he was genuine and willing to take him in. But according to Eleanor, who you'd think would know him best since they're married, Louis is only acting. All of the cuddles and friendly gestures are just because he is nice? Harry refuses to believe such things of Louis. After all of the gentle touches and words said to him, how could all of it be an act?

The younger boy began to believe her deceiving words when she first confabulated with him that day, sitting alone in the bed and biting at his now clean nails. Anytime Louis goes away, he is gone far too long on Harry's watch. What is minutes feels like hours to him. The house is deafeningly silent, only the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. Not even Eleanor made a noise in the other room where he knew she was. The clock ticked on and there was no sign of the man. Harry is used to doing nothing for he has been doing nothing for years. So, he sat there for awhile, picking at his nails and humming random tunes to himself, waiting for him patiently.

While he was used to staring blankly at gray, cracked walls, all around him now were objects of all kinds. Pictures, jewelry of Eleanor's, and a small guitar sitting in the corner were among the several objects in the room. The old, chipped guitar is what interested Harry most of all.

The curiosity took him over and he stood from the soft bed, sauntering his way over to the guitar. It had to be Louis', he knew. It was worn out in spots in the wood and the strings were close to breaking. Harry observed it, all the little details in the wood, before picking it up.

On the carpeted floor he sat Indian style and in his hands he grasped the neck of the instrument. If there is one thing that soothes him more than Louis, it is music.

His uncle liked to listen to music upstairs sometimes, it always being classic rock. Those were some of the only times the days got interesting for Harry. It came to the point where the songs were played so much that Harry began to memorize them. On his lumpy, dirty mattress he would be, whisper-singing the words to himself while dreaming of the love they sang about in the songs.

At night, he would sometimes lie there, arranging his own words together and creating his own melody. There were times when his songs wouldn't make sense. Just to sing, he'd sing. Other times he'd sing about his life or what he dreamed his life could be. Although he doesn't know much about music or how to spell most of the words he is singing, it comes naturally for him. Every word fits together faultlessly and only has he heard his angelic voice.

His love for music began when he was a child and his sister would play the pop hits at the time. They'd dance around to the songs in her bedroom, blasting the music all through their house. Several times their mother would yell to turn it down, but at the same time, she enjoyed the sight of her two children being so joyful over something so simple. Music truly does bring people closer.

In his lap rested the fragile guitar. Always he loved the flawless sound of the chords. Slower acoustic songs always appealed to him more for that reason. Gently, he strummed across the strings with his thumb.

What a pretty noise, Harry thought to himself, closing his eyes as the vibration hummed through the room and in his bones. He felt the music physically and mentally. His thumb continued to pick at the second and third strings down at a steady bet: 1-2-3 and 4. Over and over he picked at them until it became effortless, switching his thumbs from string to string.

Dipping his head down, he kept his eyes closed as he softly sang his own pure, uncomplicated lyrics, "And if you wanna run away I won't hesitate 'cause I have nothing... if they take you away."

Those lyrics he made up after Louis told him about Zayn and about the way some people felt about their lovers. It was one of the things that Louis said he didn't believe in - having nothing if you lost the one you love. Harry, on the other hand, hoped it was true. To love someone that way is something so passionate, something he dreamed about in that basement on his lumpy, dirty mattress.

Startling him, the front door of the house in the living room opened. He quickly put the guitar back to where it belonged and stood up just in time for Louis to enter, sweaty and filthy from his hard work picking up heavy debris outside. He was forced to pick up the dense debris since he was one of the only people strong enough to. Luckily, most of the debris was light in weight.

As Louis entered, Harry stood as casual as possible with his hands folded in front of his body. Raising one eyebrow at the suspicious boy, Louis asked, "What are you up to, cutie?"

Shrugging, Harry doesn't answer, but walked across the room to sit at the edge of the bed. Louis was unsure of why he wasn't as cheery and smiley as he was before he left him. Now he appeared to almost be sad about something, head down and eyes teary.

"Babe," whispered Louis, nearing him slowly. His arms were extended in front of him as he came closer. "Did something happen?"

It took everything in the younger boy not to let out his cries that were slowly building up. He has always compared himself to the famous volcano, Mount Vesuvius, and one day he fears he might become it- exploding and abolishing everything around him. He somehow remembers his sister talking about the volcano when he was little. He never thought it would mean anything to him, the knowledge of the subject.

"C'mon, Harry. Tell me what's wrong, sweetie," he breathed into his ear, arms wrapped loosely around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. "It's okay to tell me."

"Why am I here?" Louis moved his head from the boy's shoulder quickly, studying him worriedly. To say it he used a monotone voice and he had glassy green eyes. "Why are you nice to me?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Louis rubbed Harry's bony sides. "Because you deserve to be treated that way..."

"But why do you do it? Do you do it because you want to or because you have to? Because it's nice?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, baffled by the strange questioning. Hadn't he made it clear enough that he adores him fervently? "What made you say this, love?"

"Please answer my questions, Lou."

"Because I want to, H," a slightly agitated Louis replied, rubbing his nose affectionately against his. Harry stared back into those gorgeous blue eyes, mesmerized by them. They calmed him, those sincere, tender eyes.

Initially, he didn't know what to believe- Eleanor or what he thought in the first place, that Louis actually cared for him and his well being, actually wanting him around. He knew the truth. He loved the truth.

"Honestly?"

Along the sides of Harry's smooth face, Louis ran his small hands that were dirty from the outside work. Sweetly he kissed him between his eyebrows before assuring him, "Honestly."

Indeed he was assured. In fact, Harry was relieved, happy. Happy, yet mad that Eleanor would lie and say such words. Was it to get rid of him? Was it to distance him from her husband? Probably. It's not like Harry is purposely trying to steal her lover, but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't be upset if he left her for him. He doesn't necessarily want it to happen, but he sure as hell wouldn't mind.

"I'm going to take a shower to clean up," stated Louis, releasing his hand from Harry's waist and standing to his feet. He approached his dresser to receive new clothes. "You could always play a board game or something in the living room."

Straightaway, Harry began to panic at the thought of being without Louis again. "I'll be alone?"

"No... El will be in there, too."

Even worse. Eleanor is scary enough with Louis around, but without him, she is a living, breathing nightmare on legs. Frantically, Harry shook his head at the suggestion of playing board games altogether.

He finally gathered all of the things just in time for Harry to arrive at his side. Latching onto him, Harry nuzzled his nose into his neck.

"Please don't leave me. I don't like when you're gone."

"I'll only be in the shower," fondly chuckled Louis, stroking the hair of the small boy whose arms tightly clutched his waist like a koala. With his hand that didn't hold his clothes, he held him near. Harry's soft breathing against his neck tickled him. Harry wasn't ticked in any frame of reference.

"Please, Louis..." Harry begged desperately.

What was Harry so afraid of? Louis wondered. What actually happened after he left? Or was it something that occurred when he was little that causes separation anxiety? Harry was right on the edge of breaking down, so Louis determined to not interrogate him at all.

"You can sit in the bathroom while I shower if you'd like..."

Pulling back from Louis somewhat, he peered up at him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you," almost incoherently whispered Harry. Louis nodded down at him, escorting him down the hall to the bathroom.

As Louis undressed himself, the innocent younger boy tried his very best not to stare or even glance at the nude body in front of him. Endearing it was to Louis, watching harry as he shifted his eyes quickly away from his nakedness. Respecting Louis, he was attempting to do by avoiding looking at him. Respect Louis had for him because of those actions.

Soon he hid himself behind the curtain where the warm water was running down his body and through the thick hair on his head, washing the dirt away from the surface. On the opposite side of the plastic shower curtain, Harry sat on the toilet seat, fiddling with his fingers absent mindedly.

The thought for whatever reason made him uneasy, someone in the room lacking of clothes. It wasn't there when he himself was nude, the feeling of being uncomfortable with another person around. This was probably because he is moderately confident in his skin, but seeing other people without clothing was a totally different experience. He would surely freak out if he found out what two people are capable of doing when both of them are naked.

"Harry," Louis unexpectedly spoke. Harry jumped in response, his eyes wide.

"Yeah?"

"You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right?"

Doubtful he was. The truth might be hard to tell him sometimes, especially if it's not what he wants to hear.

"It's not always easy... to tell someone how they feel."

"I know... but will you try for me?"

Only for Louis's ears to hear, he whispered, "I'll try."

For the next several moments in the bathroom, they are silent, pondering over the words spoken. Harry couldn't stop thinking about what Louis said. There are various things that are wrong with him, various things that have caused him to be upset, but are too difficult and painful to talk about. For Louis, however, he'd try his best.

"Crap," exclaimed Louis, catching Harry off guard again. "I forgot a towel."

Keeping the water running, he peaked his head out to look at Harry in the dim bathroom lit by candles. Immediately he stood from his spot on the toilet and offered to go acquire a towel for him. Gratefully, Louis thanked him and closed the curtain once more.

This is when something wild and courageous took over him. He exited the bathroom, walking down the hall to the closet by the bathroom. Peering inside of the living room, he spotted Eleanor, painting her nails a dark purple. The smug expression on her face caused a storm to swirl inside of him violently. He felt this anger inside of him begin, swelling up and ready to explode. He is Mount Vesuvius.

"You lied to me," spits Harry. She pops her head up, shocked by his unpleasant tone that only gets louder. "You told me Louis didn't actually care, but he does. You're only trying to get rid of me, aren't you?"

The angry younger boy continues to confront her, coming closer with the white towel in his hand. She sits down her nail polish bottle and stood erect from the couch while crossing her arms deliriously. Her own anger bubbles up with every word he speaks. To Harry's surprise as well as her own, she does something regrettable and without second thought.

She slaps him.


	7. Chapter 7

Shock overrides him. There’s no pain. Harry’s felt this way too much to experience pain. He’s numb. His cheek is numb. He’s on the floor looking up at the fool in front of him. The monster. Satan’s daughter herself. Something that Harry can’t even see a sweet soul being buried inside her little cold, shriveled heart.

 

Then pain comes. It stings, and his tears burn trails down the red skin as if vinegar were poured onto bleeding wounds. It hurts, everything hurts. Harry’s crying out in pain and Eleanor only hisses at him for accusing her as a liar.

But she is. That’s all she is. A monstrous liar. She’s got a whipping hand and sharp claws and vicious eyes and snarky teeth and she’s everything Harry hates. Harry hates Eleanor. How is Louis surviving with her? She’s everything like his uncle. Shit. She’s every single bit like his uncle. His uncle is no different. Eleanor’s fuming just as bad as he does. Eleanor has her hand up again, ready to backlash on a second smack of misery. Harry weeps out. He doesn’t shout for Louis. He doesn’t scream and cry. He stays as silent as he can; just like his uncle used to demand for him to do.

"You want to keep up with your bullshit, Harry?" Eleanor snarls. Harry knows it’s not bullshit. None of it’s bullshit. He doesn’t want to listen to a devil. The devil is a liar. He doesn’t say a word, however. His face burns. Asking for another is going to send Harry to panic. 

"L-Lou didn’t lie," Harry bravely pronounces. "He wouldn’t lie…"

"You want to bet? Louis is a fucking liar. I know he is. He always lies to me. Every morning and night, he comes to me and hisses at how much of a worthless bastard you are." She tucks her foot under Harry’s hip and kicks into him to roll him over. "Lou. Ha, he laughs at your nicknames.”

"Stop it!" Harry hisses. "Stop it, please. He doesn’t laugh at me. H-He says that I’m nice—"

A slap clean across the other cheek and Harry’s left with a nose into the carpet, crying out for Louis. She crouches down beside him, voice low to the ground. Harry’s wails are muffled by the fluffy flooring. He can’t lift himself up with Eleanor taking him down.

"You tell Louis about this," Eleanor starts, "I’ll say you attacked me. I used to do a lot of make-up back in the day, Harry. I can make it look like I was cut with a million knives. I’ll say you punched me, and you know what will happen? I’ll take you away, make you get sent to a family in Cairns, Brisbane, even. You don’t want that, do you?"

Harry squeaks. “N-No, madam.”

"So we both know what’s going to happen after this, hm?" Eleanor smiles artificially. "Gonna pretend you got that towel for Louis and that you tripped a little, aren’t you?"

"Yes."

She stands up and nudges her toe between one of Harry’s ribs. “Good,” she says. “Up now. Don’t want to leave my husband waiting. Do you?”

Harry picks himself up and watches as Eleanor leaves the room, heading into the kitchen. Harry squabbles to pick up the towel and run back into the bathroom to hang the towel on the rack. Louis has heard him, saying a small thank you, but Harry doesn’t hear it. He’s out of the room and into Louis’ room with no words. He hides himself with a pillow between his arms. 

It’s a shock to see Harry like this. Louis still has a towel around himself five minutes later when he pops out, changing quick and noticing that Harry’s indeed just as small as one of the head pillows at the top of the bed. Louis sits at the edge of the bed, hand between Harry’s shoulder blades and wow, he’s still so very skinny. Louis frowns at how tense Harry becomes when Louis’ touch rests in place.

"Harry," he calls, hoping for some response other than his jagged breathing. "Are you okay, love?"

Harry can’t speak. Everything will spill out if he does. He doesn’t want to leave. He can’t leave Louis. He doesn’t want to move into some foreign place. They don’t have a Louis, but sure as hell those places don’t have an Eleanor either. Harry just doesn’t want to leave here yet. Louis is taking care of him. He knows Eleanor’s a liar. Louis wouldn’t waste his time if he didn’t care.

"I’m fine, Lou," he whispers out after a few moments, twisting his body to face Louis with the pillow still between his arms. "I-I’m just a little hungry."

Louis takes his word for it. “Do you want to go out into the kitchen and—”

"N-No," Harry stammers uncontrollably. "Can you… can you get something for me? I-I want to eat in here and… I don’t want to go out."

Louis’ face contorts with baffle, but Louis doesn’t question him, as usual. “Do you want anything in particular?” Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t want to become as picky as he is with his interactions with Eleanor. Louis pets his soft hair, still as beautifully scented as yesterday. “I’ll come back soon, okay?”

"Y-Yeah," Harry nods. He sends a closed smile to Louis and the sweet man kisses between his eyebrows and walks out of the room to fetch the goodies. He comes back with a bit of bread and a bowl of porridge, sitting back down beside Harry and handing him the food. 

Harry stares at the food in his hands. It’s too much. Louis needs to save some for himself. He thinks there’s the entire leftover pot inside this bowl. 

"I’m sorry," Louis says suddenly, head down to look at his thighs as Harry tilts his head, confused. Louis begins to ramble. "I-I would have given you something else, but there’s just… there’s hardly anything that I can use to make it nice. I added some sugar into the porridge, so hopefully it tastes a bit better—"

"W-What?" Harry stutters, noticing the disappointment in Louis’ eyes. Oh dear. "Lou, I… I’m happy with this. I never said I wasn’t."

Louis blinks at the younger boy. “You were just… looking at your food, like… you know, if you didn’t—”

"I’m happy with anything you give me," Harry says. He takes the spoon and gives the sloshy porridge a mix. "It’s better than anything anyone has ever given me."

He takes his first spoonful, not noticing Louis’ smile dancing around fondly on his face. Louis can’t help it. Harry’s so sweet. It’s not even the fact he’s picky, because if he was he’d still be sweet about it. He’d call out to Louis with um’s and uh’s until he managed to nicely say he didn’t want disgusting food settling in his stomach. But Harry doesn’t complain about food. He doesn’t complain about anything, really. He might be a little clingy around Louis but that’s normal, he thinks. 

Harry’s a lost boy. Louis needs to take a few steps back and realize that Harry would be that clingy boy that hasn’t had proper contact with someone who adores him in a while. Maybe Harry was abused, maybe that’s what the burn marks on his arms were. Maybe that’s what those bruises were on his sides. Maybe that’s why Harry’s so afraid of so many people, but himself and Eleanor. Seemingly.

But he knows Harry’s only clingy around Louis. What the hell was this morning? Asking Harry to go out to play board games and whining at the fact Eleanor was in the same room. Maybe Harry is afraid of Eleanor. Maybe Harry just feels more comfortable with Louis. Or comfortable with men… That doesn’t bother Louis. It’s not abnormal for Louis to have feelings for guys. Not that he has a tiny space in heart for Harry. No… definitely not.

He looks down to his right hand and the wedding ring is there. He needs to remember he is in fact married. He’s not available for open choice anymore. Even if he thinks some men are hot. Eleanor completely dismisses the fact that Louis is bisexual. She has done so since high school. So Louis declared himself as straight and that’s when Eleanor decided to give Louis a chance. Everyone thinks he’s straight. Everyone knows he’s straight simply because he says it. It’s easy to say it, but most difficult to contain it.

"Lou," a fazed Harry is looking to Louis, who gives all his attention onto Harry. Harry nudges the half empty bowl to Louis, and Louis knits his eyebrows at the food in the bowl.

"Are you not hungry?" Louis questions.

"Y-Yeah, I am," Harry says shyly. Maybe Harry did find it disgusting after all. "I-I just… I want you to eat too. I don’t want to hog it all to myself."

So very sweet. “H, don’t worry about me. I have all this chubby belly fat to keep me alive for weeks. You need to eat and keep yourself full, sweetheart.”

"But—"

"No buts, love. I can cook later if I’m hungry. You eat." He puts a curled finger under Harry’s chin and taps up lightly, making a small boop noise that makes the younger giggle. He does eat the rest under Louis’ enamoured stare. Harry finishes up and places the bowl in Louis’ little hands, leaning up and oh. He kisses Louis’ cheek lightly and says a thank you under his breath.

Louis takes the bowl into the kitchen and paces quick back to the bedroom to find Harry curled up on the bed with the same pillow between his arms. He stays like that for the rest of the day with Louis right by his side, petting his soft fringe and soft skin and soft hands and everything is so damn soft. They hold hands for a bit. Harry sleeps and Louis is watching him the entire time. He wakes like the baby kitten he is and his eyes are vibrant green. They’re so precious.

Later that night, dinner is served. Harry comes out of the shower late and pops out into the kitchen in a new pair of sweats and bare chested. Louis told him earlier dinner was sitting on the kitchen counter for him to collect. Louis will be in there, he knows. 

That’s not the case when he pads over to the door frame. He looks and eyes catch onto the pretty young snake lady washing the few dishes the family had in the sink. Eleanor faces him, a growing smirk splitting her face. Harry gulps and stands frozen. 

"Food’s here, love," she tells, pointing at the bowl of whatever it was with a large carving knife. Harry’s eyes widen. She won’t drop the knife. She keeps glaring at Harry with the metal casting off the glow of the candles around the room. It’s dark. Harry could go over there and Eleanor could creep on him. "Harry, you going to take the food?"

Harry’s head shakes no, but Eleanor doesn’t catch it. He’s still too frozen. “L-Lou.”

"You don’t need Louis to get the food for you, darling." God, her voice is menacing. "C’mon, it’s a bit of rice and tinned fish. Not that hard to pick up, is it?" She’s dropped the knife.

Harry remains still. The creature is having none of his shit. She begins to pad over, hands still bubbly and soaked with germ water. Harry’s breathing begins to increase rapidly. She only moves closer, hands up and nails glorified to look like a witch. She’s going to strangle him.

"Lou," he begins to whine. Eleanor paces closer. She doesn’t believe Harry’s going to shout. He wouldn’t. He’s not allowed to. Her smirk is devious now. She’s not friendly—she never has been. "Lou!"

"Now now," Eleanor whispers. "It’s just food, Harry—"

Harry backs down and tweaks his eyes shut. “Louis! Louis!” He screams. He tenses and waits for a slap. She’s edging closer. “Louis! P-Please—”

She comes too close. Harry puts his hands up in defence before running right. He runs. He doesn’t look back. He runs out of the kitchen, out of the hallway, and out the back door. He’s caught up in the dark, running to the next door available where he slams it and locks himself inside, hiding in the corner with all the spiders and cobwebs. 

He falls to the floor, pain filling his stomach as he curls up around himself. His eyes are closed and his arms are around his knees. He cries into them. He’s breathing too fast; his lungs hurt. There’s a faint yell in the background. His ears are blocked. He can’t hear a word. Everything’s muffled. Everything’s fuzzy. He opens his eyes and his vision is blurred from tears.

The door swings open and there’s a soft call for him. The voice is unrecognizable. No one should have found him in the shed. This is his place. He should stay here. But the figure paces closer and Harry immediately shrieks for the person to put that cigarette away and leave him alone, to stop with the burns, to stop with the beating arm so his skin isn’t always a sickly purple.

Instead, he’s picked up. He can feel two arms under himself, one at the fold of his knees and the other across his shoulder blades. He’s frozen in his skin. He wants to grip on and tell the person to stop touching him. He wants the person not to hurt him. He doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s pleading. He’ll beg to not be touched again.

He’s placed down and he feels more relaxed this time. But he’s still not out of it. His breathing is still heavy. His lungs still hurt. His scars begin to throb as if the abuse was ten seconds ago. His vocal box is shot. He can’t find the words to speak properly, but he knows that he can fight back this time.

Someone’s got his face between two hands, and Harry screams for his life. He kicks his legs out and pushes the being away, tossing and turning and flailing his hands wherever he could. He shouts nonsense. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Someone’s got his wrists now, and his feet can’t move for some reason. Harry comes face to face with a dark blur and Harry swallows his breath.

"Bebz?" Someone whispers. Harry knows that voice. His hands tighten around Louis’ wrists. "Hazza, can you hear me, sweets?"

Harry can, but he’s struck for words again. He gulps once more, finger nails digging into his skin. That’s good enough.

"Oh, lord, H," Louis whispers, and the blurs fade away. Louis’ blue eyes he can see. They’re tilted with concern. Harry launches himself from his spot and wraps his arms around Louis’ torso, almost pushing them both off the bed. "S-Shit, Hazza—"

"S-Stay with me please," Harry calls out. "I don’t want to be hurt, Lou. Please. I don’t want to… I don’t want to be hurt."

Harry’s head is against his chest, ear against his heartbeat and Louis hopes to God that Harry will calm down. He grazes his fingers across the boy’s bare back, cooing softly that he’ll stay. Harry doesn’t let go of him, and it’s what forces Louis into the bed with the boy still gripping on tight around his body. 

He doesn’t think Harry can hear himself speak. It’s a constant drabble of please don’t leave, and please don’t hurt me. But Harry knows Louis won’t hurt him. Harry should know that his sweet wife would never attack Harry. Why did Harry panic? Again? 

Why is Harry like this. Why?


	8. Chapter 8

The dream was clearer this time, the fog separating slightly, but yet revealing a sight that all sane people would dread seeing. The young boy cringed in his sleep, the nightmare disturbing his once serene slumber. This dream reoccurred every night it seemed and if it wasn't that dream, there was no dream at all - not one that he could recall, that is.

This time, out of all times, it was the most realistic. It shook him awake, but not quickly enough. It was as if he were experiencing the terrible memory all over again. He could feel what he felt then, physically and mentally. He could taste it, the bitterness in the air. During that dream more than ever before, he could see it, too.

"Please! Stop it, please!" five year old screamed at the armed man. He screamed until his throat was hoarse, until his eyes filled with stinging tears. The exhaustion of trying to stop the man with only his words effected his whole body.

The sinister man spat at him, demanding him to shut up and sit still. Not wanting harm to come to himself, he does as told, curling his body into the corner of the dim, shadowy room. His own arms grasped his legs against his chest and he sobbed uncontrollable into his chubby, childlike knees.

Innocent were his big green eyes, vibrant with light and dreams dancing within them. Innocent were his eyes before the man took away the world he once knew. In a flash as fast as lightning, he lost his home. He lost his family. Those dreams that were previously dancing within his youthful eyes were sucked out, replaced by a never ending nightmare.

"How could you do this to?" he screamed. "Why did you do that?"

"Harry... What are you talking about?"

"I hate you! You're ruining everything!"

"Wake up."

Suddenly, the strong arms are restricting his body from whipping around and he wailed out, "Don't hurt me!"

"Sweetie. Wake up."

Startled, Harry jumps out of his night terror, awakening to the warm blue eyes staring back at him in concern. In the wide bed, both of them tangled in the blankets and sheets, Louis holds the boy in his arms. Around him tightly he keeps on of the soft blankets, keeping the boy concealed in the cloth like he is a letter in an envelope, protecting him from anything out to get him, to ravage him.

Little does Louis know, one of the people out to get the young boy is a woman he not only loves greatly, but continuously baffles him. One moment she encourages Louis and in the next she is putting him down. Only that half of her, he knows. As for the other side, he has no clue. Harry knows, however, and for the past week and a half, he has been petrified.

Maybe the witch Louis calls his wife is the reason for his nightmares are getting more torturous. It is like what was happening with his uncle when he was younger is occurring all over again - the abuse and the constant sense of insecurity. He never feels safe anymore, not with her around.

"You're okay, H. You're safe here with me," tenderly speaks Louis, stroking the curls of the boy hiding into his chest. He tries his best keep him safe by doing such actions, not knowing the true reasons behind his fears and why his fears continue to escalate.

"Where is Eleanor?" immediately questions Harry, gripping Louis' white shirt in his fists that are against his muscular chest. Tightly squeezing his eyes shut, he nuzzles his nose into the cotton fabric, only expecting the answer he always receives.

"Out and about." Popping his head up at Louis' response, he is surprised. He was anticipating him to say 'in the living room' or 'in the neighborhood.' Instead, she is at work, a guarantee that she will be gone for awhile. "She'll be out for a while, she's got some type of baby shower for Sophia... probably won't be home until early tomorrow morning, more than likely."

Looking at the clock hanging on the wall, Harry observes that it is a bit after one in the afternoon. He must have fallen asleep after lunch, Louis only leaving the boy's side to wash the dishes.

"So we'll be alone?" Harry excitedly whispers, almost feeling guilty about how thrilled he got. He couldn't hold back the sudden excitement of the lady being gone.

More relaxed, he feels, now that she is gone, not having to fret or worry about her storming into the room and hitting him again or assuming that he stealing away her husband. Maybe that is what he wants to do. The man deserves better. The man deserves a woman, not a girl who makes foolish decisions and treats him harshly. Or maybe he deserves a man.

"Yes," he chuckles, rubbing Harry's warm, bony back. "You act like we don't get any alone time."

Without a reply, Harry pressed a soft kiss to Louis' clothed chest. The sensation moves a warm shiver down his chest.

There is something about holding the boy in his arms that makes him want to fall in love again, but he is only a child, a child so weak and vulnerable. How is it that he could fall in love again, especially with Harry? He is already in love with his wife.

If Louis ever finds out the truth about his precious lover, Harry wonders if he'd love her the same. Someone like Louis couldn't love someone as cruel as her. Right? Of course, Harry doesn't know much of love. What does he know? He knows the sky is blue and how to read the time on the clock and how to spell his name, but the intricacy that is love he has yet to gain knowledge of.

"H..." begins the older man in a whisper, still rubbing his back with his fingertips. "Do you not like El?"

Did he not like him? How Harry wants to burst into laughter. Alternatively, he shakes his head before saying in a hushed voice, "But does she hate me?" He asks this although he knows the truth.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Louis whispers, "Why would you think that?" Lately Eleanor hasn't been complaining to Louis about the arrival of the boy, not since a week and a half ago. She has been taking out all of her irritation on someone else.

"She treats me differently." His voice is evident with fear which causes curiosity to fill Louis.

The man knows from his short time with him that he easily gets fearful over several situations, memories from his past he refuses to speak of. Fearfulness concerning Eleanor, though? Eleanor had never been scary- not to her husband. She may be bold, standing up for what she believes in, but not frightening.

"Different how?"

"I can't tell you."

Pulling away from him, Louis cocks his head to the side. "Why not?"

Their heads are directly in front of each other, eyes level. On the same pillow, their heads rest, eyes locked.

"I'll get in trouble."

Before the older man can say another word, Harry releases himself from his arms and throws the blanket from his body before jumping from the bed. Towards the corner of the room where the guitar sits, Harry saunters, Louis watches in wonder, observing his moves and pondering on his previous words.

I'll get in trouble. 

Around the narrow neck of the guitar, he folds his skinny fingers. Down the smooth wood, he slides his fingers, grasping it tightly before picking it up from the ground. He had always plucked at the strings in secrecy, but never with Louis around. For the first time doing so, he plops down on the end of the bed, resting the guitar on his lap while stroking his fingertips down the worn out strings. Seeing Harry doing this, he pushes his own blankets from his body and crawls down the bed to sit next to him.

"Can you play me something?" Louis asks him with a grin, leaning over to get a better look at Harry's focuses eyes that are memorizing every inch of the guitar.

"No... but can you?" Cheekily, Harry smiles up at him, revealing his imperfect teeth that make Louis show his pearly whites in response.

All Louis does is take the guitar from his loose grip and holds it in his arms where it naturally sits, comfortably sits.

Shifting his eyes to Harry, he whispers, almost like it is a secret, "Can I play you a song I wrote?"

Enthusiastically, Harry nods, bending his body into the older man. He doesn't break his eyes from the fingers as he waits for him to begin. Fond of Harry's excitement, Louis strums delicately among the strings, the beautiful chords bouncing off of the walls.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Louis watches as Harry closes his eyelids, hiding his green eyes that he enjoys looking into, getting lost in. Then, he transferred his eyes back to the guitar and begins to strum more. He can't feel even the slightest bit of movement come from Harry and every time he looks back at him, his eyes are closed. All of the notes seem to flow through the air and into Harry's soul. It is like his oxygen, like he needs the prepossessing sound to live. Maybe it is what has been keeping him alive all this time, sane all this time. Perhaps music is his therapy.

"You're not going to sing?" questions Harry suddenly, popping his eyes open and peering at the man curiously.

At him, Louis gazes, stopping his fingers from moving. "Tonight... if you'd like to come to my gig tonight. I'm playing at a local coffee shop that is opening back up since they just got their power back."

In exhilaration, the teen agrees, gently tugging the guitar from Louis' arms that embraced it. Now Harry embraced the guitar in his scrawny arms, strumming it with his thumb, producing the same tune he had days earlier while humming his song he wrote and repeatedly recites from memory.

"What is that?" asks Louis right as Harry pauses.

The floor is all the green eyed boy stares at as he responds to his new guardian, for he cannot lie to him while looking into his eyes. "Nothing. I don't know many songs and I can't play guitar."

"What do you know?" gently asks Louis, cocking his head to try and get a glimpse into the green orbs of his.

"Old songs," replies Harry, still not returning his eyes to Louis'. "Whatever my uncle would listen to."

At the mention of his uncle, Louis immediately takes the opportunity to learn more about his life before the treacherous storm changed everything. "So were you close to your uncle?"

To Louis' surprise as well as his own, straightaway Harry responds, "Not at all."

"Why not?"

This is when it is not as easy for him to conjure up the words to say. He doesn't want to reply, to open up to the man, although he trusts him more than anyone on this planet. Sensing his uneasiness, Louis pulls the guitar from Harry's stick-skinny fingers before placing it carefully to the side on the spacious bed. Into him, he pulls Harry's smaller frame into him, kissing him delicately on his temple.

"I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, H."

"He abused me."

Three words brought a great shock to him, so sudden and brave coming from the mouth of the small boy. With his eyes clinched tight, closed and curtaining his sight away from reality, he can't believe himself.

"The bruises and scars-"

"They're because of him."

Being the strongest he had been in sixteen long years, he holds back the tears threatening to spill over. However, what truly makes him strong isn't how he is holding back the tears. The fact that after several years of holding back the secrets and he is now releasing them and sharing them, that is what makes him passionate, spirited.

"That's... That's terrible, Harry," he sadly says, feeling remorse for the guiltless boy. After a moment of scanning his scattered thoughts, he realizes something that should have been brought to his attention much sooner. "Some of your bruises are too new to be from him, love. Be honest... How did you really get them?"

Suspiciousness rises within him, coming to many conclusions as to what they are from. Is Louis not gentle enough with his fragile body? Does Louis have a motive from his dark past to hurt himself? Or worst of all- Eleanor.

He brushes off the last possibility, knowing that his lover would never hurt a fly.

"I'm clumsy."

Not a word does he believe, but noticing the building tears and sadness from memories Louis doesn't fully understand or know about, he moves on and doesn't push him any further.

Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Louis says in Harry's ear, "If you say so, love... C'mon. Let's go do something fun that doesn't involve board games or long naps."

And with that, they leave the comfort of the bedroom, Harry relieved and Louis more baffled than he was when his new best friend first awoke from his haunting past.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry's handed the pair of jeans Louis bought for him the other day. They're cuffed around his thin ankles. Still over the past three months Harry hasn't gained much weight. He's healthy, Louis supposes. His face looks fuller, and his skin's glowing like the guardian angel in his dreams. He's sure Harry's the angel, actually. He's been in his dreams a lot. Not that it means anything... of course.

 

He changes freely in front of Louis. He sports a lovely pair of blue briefs that are tight around his flat bum. Louis pinches it sometimes while Harry's helping him with lunch or dinner. He's got a little bit of a tummy; it's good progress. He's eating a lot more nowadays. He tells Louis when he's hungry, when he's thirsty, when he's sad, or when he's happy. He tells Louis a lot; not exactly everything. Louis knows Harry hasn't told him everything.

He has a right not to... like... it's been three whole months, maybe a little longer. For as much trust Louis has on Harry, the feelings are most definitely not mutual back. There hasn't been a proper talk about certain things. Things like where Harry came from, and what really happened with that uncle that deserved to be thrown into a garbage disposal. Things like what Harry dreams about, the ones that wake him up and forces him to shuffle himself closer to Louis - sometimes even wake Louis up to sing him back to sleep. They've talked minimal about this stuff, and Louis doesn't like that.

He likes Harry. A lot. He really likes Harry. Harry's still as intriguing as he was when he first appeared tucked into himself in the corner full of creepy crawlies and cobwebs. Louis has noticed a lot about him. He's sweet day and night. He compliments at all necessary times. He never fails to try and make Louis smile after a rough day at the bar. He's actually the light Louis needs to stop himself from drinking himself heavy at the bar to return home, disorientated, by a vivaciously horny wife. That's all Eleanor tends to be like all the time, anyway.

"Lou," his friend calls, and Louis immediately looks up and smiles at the shirtless boy. He's holding up a Ramone's tee, one of his favourites. "This will look good, right?"

He looks good with everything to be frank. Louis confirms with a nod towards him. "Looks perfect, H."

They're going out tonight. Again. Louis took him to the bar last week to perform to a little less than twenty people. They're heading out to somewhere much quieter now, but not for a gig. Louis is taking him out for a little fun. They both decided Eleanor isn't going to come to the drive in movie. Harry, still, doesn't fancy her. In all truth, Louis doesn't have a blue's clue why.

"We might need to head out a little early," Louis says. "Buy a few things, so we can get a good spot."

Harry only smiles. Louis uses the term "we" a lot, and it's not like he hasn't noticed. It's usually "we" nowadays. It's not just Harry and I, or the both of us. He's learned that Harry doesn't like being left as the individual. He doesn't know why, but if it brings a million and one hugs from Harry then he's openly willing to keep using "we".

They're both changed and Louis sprays some faint cologne on his body. He sprinkles Harry with a fair amount of it too. It's Harry's favourite scent, he once told Louis. A mixture of delicate frangipani and a hint of jasmine. The smell fills the room after Louis returns home from work. He's sure Harry sprays it around to keep himself sane, maybe zen. 

Louis should really take him to one of Eleanor's yoga classes one day.

It's slightly dark when they head out to get a few things from the servo. They have to be back by nine, at least. Eleanor doesn't know they're gone. And it's not as if Louis forgot. He just didn't tell her, because he plans to get back before she finds out Harry and him went out to the drive ins without her. And... well, the drive in was the first place Louis took Eleanor on their first date.

"Marshmallows?" Louis asks him as he picks up the packet to show Harry. Harry shrugs. "Babe, c'mon. Marshmallows are great."

"Don't tease," Harry laughs. He's pointing at a pack of Maltesers. "Please?"

"Don't please me," Louis taunts sardonically. "C'mon then. Drop them in."

Harry does. Louis can see the boy grinning wide by the corner of his eye. "They're my favourite, y'know."

Louis does know. He always fetches a packet for him when he's out just for him. "I thought Jaffas were your favourite?"

"They are, kinda," Harry tells him shyly. Louis finds a packet of jaffas and chucks them in with the other confectioneries. "I think Maltesers are better though."

"Well, marshmallows are my favourite."

"No! You like those caramel things," Harry says. "You have them all the time, you said they were your favourite last week, but you ran out."

"Fantales? Nah, they're not my favourite anymore. Marshmallows only." Louis finds the fantales and marshmallows to pop them both into their basket. Pre-made popcorn is the final thing they find and Louis boops Harry on the nose with the tip of his finger before they head to the counter, paying for the car's petrol and goodies in the basket.

Driving to the movies is quiet. Harry's already delving into half of the lollies and has fed Louis one or two surprise treats. Louis drives the car into the grassed area in front of the big screen and both are given speakers by the coordinator of the movie. Harry gets out of the car and jumps into the backseat as Louis organizes to fold back the roof of their convertible. They're given the clearest view of the movie, and Louis can't help to admire the stars above him and Harry after he jumps in the back.

The lollies are between them and they share a litre bottle of water. They tend to share a lot of things lately. Heck, they had a bath together the other week. To save water, of course. The movie starts and through the first half an hour, Louis is clueless of what's going on. There's only a lot of drama between friends and there's some romance between some guy friend and some nerdy chick who is being played upon. Quite a derogatory plot, actually. But Harry's enjoying himself, he thinks.

Louis finds Harry's hand at one point and he holds them together. Just what they usually do when they're together and close, occasionally. It doesn't mean a lot. It's so comfortable being able to do this with him. Like... yeah, Harry's hot. He knows Harry's hot. He's just sixteen. He's sure half of what he's done with Harry is considered illegal. He is seven years his senior, and... well, it isn't that old when you think about it harshly. But Harry's an innocent child still. Louis should really remove his hand and use it to stuff his face with more treats.

But he doesn't.

Now, there's a scene of the girl and her best mate in a bathtub, still clothed, no water in the bath. He wouldn't take Harry to an explicit movie. They're chatting about boyfriends, the like, and it comes clear that the nerdy girl fancies the jock. Her friend is oblivious to the jock's plan, and well, Louis knows where this is heading already.

"Lou." Harry paws at his thigh before Louis turns to look at him. Louis grins at him. "Why are they letting him do that to her?"

Louis' hand tightens in Harry's. "It's just the way some people are, just to be funny."

"But they aren't funny," Harry answers with a frown. "They're going to hurt her, and they're going to make her feel like... feel like shit. Why are there people like this? I-I... I don't think--"

"Haven't you ever seen people like this, Harry?" Louis questions. "They're everywhere. I mean, Eleanor used to date a lot of these guys. My friends used to date a lot of these people."

Harry blinks up wearily. "You're not one of these people, are you?"

"No," he answers in short. "Never, H. Never would I play with someone's heart like this. I always stay true to my heart. Always."

Louis eyes the movie again, the scene changed and ten times more confusing as it was before. He feels the soft press of Harry's head against his shoulder. Harry relaxes. Louis does too, his cheek falling to the bed of his scented, wispy hair as he sighs out melodically. It's only ten more minutes in when the truth is revealed, and the girl is left with a heart broken into a million unrepairable pieces. 

Harry begins to ask questions again when the girl and her best guy friend are together in her room, talking about the current situation, and when they begin to get very, very close.

"They're friends," Harry begins, and the hand on screen traces closer to the guy's. "I'm confused, Lou."

"I think they might fancy each other," Louis laughs. "The plot is so easy to guess. She's going to end up liking the guy friend that was there all along. It's typical."

Harry doesn't seem to be focused on just that. The two friends are pulling each other in for a first kiss. "Friends can kiss friends, right Lou?"

Louis answers without thought, eyes still on the screen. "Of course, H. You know I kiss your head all the time, between your eyebrows, your nose--"

"Why not on the mouth?" What.

Louis jerks his head to glance at Harry, who is pulling a relatively baffled face at Louis. He's really serious. A kiss on the mouth? Does he know what that means? Well... it doesn't really mean anything, but a kiss on the mouth is just way too... sensual, he guesses. He's not going to kiss Harry on the mouth. Eleanor will kill him. Everyone would kill him.

"There's limits to where you can kiss your friends," Louis tells him. "You're my friend H. I kiss you on the head because it's comforting. I kiss Eleanor on the mouth because I love her with all my heart, and I married her. She's my wife."

"But... friends can kiss friends?" Harry points to the screen. And they're snogging now. Shit, Louis really should have picked a different movie. "I-I've never had a kiss before, Lou. I-I'm sorry... I just... I d-don't really know much about... relationships, friendships. I don't really have--"

"You haven't had your first kiss?" And that's a surprise. Harry's such an innocent bastard, and it's not even because he's nice. It's because he's literally had no experience whatsoever in relationships, friendships... Louis wonders if he's had any experience of anything at all. "Babe, you're not missing out on much."

Harry looks to the screen again, before turning back to Louis and glowering harder. "I'm hopeless, Lou. I won't find someone with... with what I am."

"Don't." Louis brings the boy closer and kisses the top of his head. "You're not hopeless. You're sixteen, mate. You have another 60, 70 years ahead of you. You have all that time to find someone who thinks nothing less of you than perfect and to kiss all you want."

Harry tilts his head up and smiles gently. "Really?"

"I'm sure of it, H. I know."

He kisses his temple and keeps Harry under his arm for the rest of the movie. It's everything Louis hoped it wouldn't be, but it's all the better that Harry's half asleep under his arm and has his nose dipping into Louis' shoulder. Louis doesn't want to move in fear of waking the kitten. But they need to go home. It's late enough. Eleanor is going to be pissed if she knew.

"'arry," he coos, thumb curling up to stroke down the side of his cheek. Smooth like the softest of fabrics, and warmer than a pair of socks fresh from a dryer. "C'mon we need to head back home. Everyone's gone now."

Harry mumbles something. Louis can't even try to make out the words he's trying to say.

"H?"

"Can we have a sleepover outside, Lou?" Harry questions sleepily. "It's nice..." He opens his eyes slightly before sending a closed smile to Louis, pointing up to the sky and whispering, "Look at all the stars, Lou."

He'd love to stay out with Harry but Eleanor... Louis is sure Eleanor won't talk to him for the next month if she knows. Harry doesn't even know that they're keeping this a secret from Eleanor. He just assumed Eleanor was okay with this.

But Harry's looking to the stars. He's smiling wide now, eyes tracing the constellations and pupils are twinkling against the moon light. Harry's so fucking fascinating, and he's not even trying to exaggerate his point. It's baffling how intriguing the boy is. As if he's never seen the Southern Cross in his life. He's giggling and pointing out the brighter stars and is wondrously asking questions like what's out there, and maybe there's someone looking from the moon right now and pointing at them. Louis doesn't burst his bubble.

Which brings Louis to say, "Yeah, let's have a sleepover outside."

Harry almost jumps out of his skin for how excited he is. He thanks Louis and squabbles to sit up in the back seat, smooching a fat kiss onto his cheek. He begins to stare at the stars again while Louis fetches his phone and nervously messages Eleanor.

heading out with zayn tonight. left harry at nialls. love you !!

It probably does the trick. Eleanor seems to get it. She hasn't called to make sure of anything, so that's a good sign. He falls back into his seat next to Harry and sprawls an arm around his shoulders. Harry warms to the touch and rests his temple against Louis.

"Do you want to drive out further?" Louis asks him. "I don't know if another movie will be played. We could drive out to the cliffs? Less light too. See more stars?"

There's no verbal agreement from Harry. He grins wider, so Louis is forced to move from is spot to the front. Harry joins him in the passenger seat. Louis drives them the short way to the cliffs and parks at the local tourism area. It's a clear view of Etty Bay beach. He might take Harry here for a swim someday. Maybe when the weather's a bit warmer.

Harry leads them to the back of the car again, the roof still clear from their heads so the view is perfect of the moon and stars. Harry continues to admire them with his body half folded into Louis. They might sleep like this, Louis thinks. He has a blanket in the trunk that him and Eleanor used to use after night clubbing. Eleanor would get cold easily, so they'd share a blanket while waiting around. 

Harry's yawning like a small lion. He's tired. Louis cards his hands through his soft hair to try and entice him to sleep. Harry only purrs with delight at the touch and curls his body closer to Louis. He's almost on top of him, actually. Louis, as well as Harry, doesn't seem to notice.

"Tired, Curly?" Louis questions. Harry nods weakly and hums drowsily. "Sleep."

Harry doesn't approve. "I want to stay up and watch the stars with you."

"We can watch the stars tomorrow night, love," Louis confirms. "They come every night."

Harry smiles. "You're warm."

"Are you cold?"

"No," he mutters. "I like hugging you. You keep me warm." Louis' lips tweak up in a small sneer before he leans forward and presses a kiss to Harry's forehead. "Your kisses are warm."

He forces another kiss between Harry's eyebrows. "Tell me when you get cold, okay? I don't want you falling ill," Louis says, nosing Harry's scalp. "Your hair is quite a blanket, H."

Harry giggles. "I like it when you kiss my hair," Harry admits. "It tickles."

Louis does it to make Harry laugh, pressing Harry in impossibly closer. His hands are locked around Harry's waist, pulling them both to their sides to uncomfortably sit on the car seats on one side of their hip. Louis brings a hand up to run his fingers through Harry's hair yet again.

"Did you like the movie tonight?" Louis asks him, petting him. Harry falls into his chest and sighs into Louis' neck. He nods nonchalantly. "What was your favourite part?"

"Everything," Harry says. "I don't like how that jock used the girl though. No one should be treated like that." Harry nuzzles his nose into Louis' neck, taking a whiff of his weak cologne. "You still smell very pretty." And he stops with the nuzzling and nestles his head to his shoulder. "You're really pretty."

Louis snickers in his throat and lifts up his hand to graze his fingers across Harry's cheek. "You are too."

"I'm not pretty, Lou," Harry denies. "I'm skinny... and gross."

"No you're not." His fingers dip under his jaw to perk up Harry's little head. "Even if you were, you're still pretty, and cute." Harry looks down between them, unsure of what to say. "You need to believe it, Hazza."

Harry glances up to the stars. "I'm not as pretty as those though."

"They're pretty a billion miles away," Louis says. "You're beautiful, and you're right next to me."

The disbelief crossing Harry's face brings a frown to Louis'. "I don't... I don't believe you very much, Lou."

It's unbelievable how much self esteem Harry lacks. Louis has noticed this. He says he can't do certain things, that he can't be much of help with Eleanor around, that Eleanor hates him because he's not good enough... It's horribly upsetting for Louis to watch him beat himself down while he can compliment others. Louis loves to compliment, and Harry deserves it all.

"I can prove it to you," Louis whispers. He leans forward and kisses Harry softly on the mouth and pulls back immediately. He smiles gently at the baffled boy. "Do you see it now?"

Harry knits his eyebrows together, face screwed up completely with confusion. "I-I... I don't understand?" Harry tells him. 

"You're special," Louis says, thumb wiping over Harry's bottom lip. "I don't kiss many people, Harry."

"What does it mean, though?" Harry asks. "You said... you said you can kiss your friends, sometimes. If... if it's okay."

Louis gently kisses him again, much softer this time and a little longer. He's sure Harry's got his eyes open. Louis wants to open his and see hwo adorably innocent Harry is. He's clueless, probably blushing too, and wait. What is Louis doing.

He snaps back abruptly before blinking to Harry, who's looking down at his legs with the pink tinge flaming his cheeks. It's noticeable even in the obscure lighting. Shit, what was Louis doing? What is he thinking. He has taken Harry's first kiss.

"I'm warm, Lou," Harry mutters suddenly. "My lips are warm..."

Louis needs to fucking stop. "So are your cheeks, Munchkin." Louis raises his hands to pet Harry's cheeks again, feeling the warmth radiating into his skin. "You feeling okay?"

"Y-Yeah," he mumbles, resting back into his seat and leaning to Louis' shoulder. "Can... can I kiss you more, Lou?"

He's eager to try more, and Louis wants to. Without Eleanor here, Louis could keep Harry his little secret. Harry's just sixteen. He wants to learn, and who else is better than someone who's willing to provide it? 

"In the morning, Curly. You need some rest," Louis says. Harry's hand clutch onto him and Louis knows what this is. "I'm going to stay right by your side, okay? I'm not leaving anywhere."

"Okay," says Harry. He's asleep within a few short minutes of Louis staring at him and kissing between his eyebrows. A few times on the lips just to be sure. He's got silky lips. Not chapped like Louis thought they'd be. He's soft. Everything about Harry is soft. His words are soft. His body is soft. His voice is soft...

Louis is a idiot. He's tripped and falling for a sixteen year old boy who he didn't know less than three months ago. He's a married man, planning to have kids in the near future, with his lovely, adoring, high school sweetheart wife, who constantly beats him down for a shit job, and shit house, and shit cooking.

Louis is a fucking idiot.


	10. Chapter 10

Dreams. At first Louis didn't pay them any attention, unlike Harry whose dreams are vivid memories he can't ignore. The more these dreams occur, the more realistic they become. He'll wake in the middle of the night, throwing the blanket from his body before checking to make sure Harry is still there, for in his dreams- nightmares more like- the sixteen year old is taken away from him or disappears from his sight... or disappears completely.

Men. They were in his living room wearing black suits and ties, clipboards in their hands, five or six of them. There standing with them was one woman, but he couldn't make out her face or any face. No words could he produce, but he longed to ask her why they were there, why she was there. She paid him no attention, she only talked to the business-like men, arms crossed and hip popped out.

Before he could take any action, Louis saw the unimaginable. Being hauled by his arms out the front door, feet dragging along the wooden floor, was Harry, the only face he could make out in the dreadful dream that made absolutely no sense to him. Just as he couldn't speak, Louis could not move a muscle. The only power he had was to watch as the innocent kitten was being pulled away from his world again as he had time and time before in his dreams.

That was all he could recall from the haunting dream after he awoke, the last thing he heard being the wailing of Harry who in reality was contently resting his head against Louis in the back seat of the car. When the wail startled Louis awake, Harry jumped as well, peering up at the man in concern.

"I thought bad dreams were my thing," joked Harry with a little grin. He wrapped his arms around Louis waist, gently kissing his chin. "Are you okay?'

With his arm still around Harry's more narrow shoulders, he pulled him closer. "Yeah," he said in a quiet, uneasy voice. Really, he was shook up even then, but he didn't want to worry Harry. He tends to worry over every little detail only because he cares so much about everyone else's well being. Never did he have anyone to worry about or care about prior to his great escape during the storm.

 

Several moments Louis and Harry spent in silence, wrapped in each other's warm embrace. They peered out at the sunrise, the vibrant purples and pinks peaking over the tops of the land in the distance. In Harry's mind, he thought about how it was the second most beautiful sight he had seen... Most can assume what the first is.

These thoughts brought up the reoccurring topic in Harry's jumbled circle of thoughts. "So, friends do kiss."

Louis didn't know whether to groan in aggravation or laugh in amusement and endearment at Harry for bringing it up again. "In certain situations, yes," he simply said, pressing a kiss between Harry's eyebrows.

"In our situation we can, right?" eagerly questioned the boy. His big green eyes that sparkled in the sunlight looked up at Louis in wonder, waiting for a response and hoping for a good one.

Guilt poured over Louis, reflecting on the night before. Sixteen years old and here he was kissing on him... again. He felt like he was taking advantage of him. Not only this, but he had a wife. It is needless to say again, but Louis is a fucking idiot- a stupidly happy fucking idiot, that is. If Eleanor doesn't know it is okay, right? The person Louis is becoming is the kind of person Louis usually hates- a cheater and a liar and both in one night.

Three light kisses in a row, Louis pecked the boy's lips, each time leaving Harry with a lingering smile. About to kiss him a fourth time, he is interrupted by a buzzing coming from his pocket. Sighing in frustration, he pulled out the phone, observing it is a text from his very own wife.

 

When are you going to be home? x

 

Not able to read, Harry looks over his shoulder at the phone, but only stared at the words in ignorance. He did so as Louis typed his response, too.

 

picking up harry now. be there soon x

 

"Is that Eleanor?" asked Harry in a monotone voice. He felt like he wanted to call her "the bitch" instead, but for one, cursing sometimes makes him uncomfortable. And two, he didn't think that would go over well with Louis.

"Yes," Louis answered in the same tone of voice. He didn't mean to. It's just the way it came out. "We have to get going soon, H. We don't want El to worry."

Frankly, Harry didn't care if Eleanor worried. It is one of the only things he doesn't care about. But it seemed as if Louis cared and so then Harry cared.

They moved to the front of the car, disappointed that they had to break contact from one another. Of course, right as they sat down, they joined hands again. These two can't stand two minutes without touching, it came across as. Louis began to drive home, towards the woman whom he has betrayed,

He wished he would have thought of a convincing story of what he had done with Zayn before he got home. Better yet, worked out a story with Harry. Eleanor's questions were almost too much. Beyond suspicious, she was.

Right as he entered the front door with Harry, Eleanor interrogated him with questions. "How was Zayn's?" she asked, arms and legs crossed as she sat on the living room couch, almost as if she was waiting for them to arrive.

Caught off guard, Louis stuttered while closing the door behind him and Harry. "Uh... Good. W-we just had a little jam session with his guitars and such."

"It's been a long time since you two have hung out." Her eyes were squinted, dark, and skeptical and a plastered smile was on her face.

Louis cleared his throat, desiring for the ability to be able to clear the thick tenseness in the room. "Uh, yeah. It was good to catch up with him."

Done with Louis, her mischievous eyes shifted their glares like daggers to Harry. "And how was Niall?"

Completely baffled of what she was talking about and frightened by he look of terror she had on her cynical face, he slightly hides behind Louis, his hands gripping the cloth of Louis' shirt in fists. He recognized the name from the several times Louis had talked of him, but why was she asking Harry about him? Fortunately for Louis, the sixteen year old was able to catch on quickly to what was going on.

"He was... um... nice." Harry's vocabulary isn't the best, but even he knew that was a weak word, especially to describe someone as special as Niall who he knows means a lot to Louis. "We ate food and stuff."

Louis couldn't hold back his chuckles. It was a surprisingly accurate description of what he'd most likely really do at Niall's house. Eleanor didn't find it funny, on the other hand. She rolled her eyes before strolling over to Louis and kissing his lips roughly. Awkwardly, Harry released his hands from his shirt as they continued to kiss and he left the room, feeling a cavity in his chest where his heart should be. Meanwhile, Louis felt an emptiness in the lustful kiss. It was cold.

With a guitar in his arms, Harry listened to the moans in the distance, uncertain of what was happening. He only strummed at the strings and quietly sang the song he had been creating slowly, but surely. This went on for about twenty more minutes whilst he sat on the floor of Louis and Eleanor's bedroom.

It was no surprise to Louis that his wife was horny. That's all he knew other than the fact that Harry has a secret talent of singing. But when Louis walked in on Harry expressing his talent, the boy abruptly halted and put the instrument away. Louis didn't question him further. He only enfolded the boy in his arms until it was time for work that night.

Harry insisted on going with him to the bar again and Louis didn't argue. Not only was Harry the person to keep Louis from drinking too much, but it is also nice to simply have his company. Anytime Louis gets nervous, he'll look into the crowd of people and find Harry. The boy smiles at him, giving him a proud thumbs up. The smile alone builds Louis' self-confidence.

Together they exit the house after they get dressed in their blue jeans and button-up shirts and go on their way to the bar downtown. Eleanor stayed behind as she always does, claiming she has work to do around the house. Always, she comes up with an excuse as for why can't go. At least he has Harry to cheer him on.

It's a decent-sized bar, packed with people every weekend. A small stage is set up in the main area of the bar, tables and chars set up along the walls and the middle being for the dance floor where mostly whores and drunk men are grinding against each other like maniacs. The only safe place that Louis feels Harry could go was by the front of the stage where he could keep an eye on him.

Tonight is different.

"Maybe you could meet some new people," randomly suggests Louis as he is setting up the music equipment with the assistance of Harry. "The only friend you've got is me... and I'm not that cool."

Adjusting the microphone stand, Harry lets out a laugh. "Maybe I like it this way."

"But there are so many cool people out there-"

"They can't be cooler than you."

A flattering feeling fills Louis. The young boy always has a way of making him feel special. God and everyone on Earth and Mars knows Eleanor won't.

A half an hour later, Harry is at the edge of the stage, staring up at Louis as he sings a John Mayor song to the crowd of people who are paying him no attention. It upsets Harry when they don't listen to Louis sing, but he doesn't waste his energy getting angry. All he does is stand and listen, watches.

Every note Louis sings overtakes Harry's body with delight, consumes him in a way he wouldn't be able to describe with words. It's not only in his voice, but in his eyes and the passion like fire in them. Harry is absolutely hypnotized. It isn't until Louis is done performing when Harry is able to break his stare and actually put into action what Louis suggested.

Meet new people.

As he makes his way over to the bar, Louis promises that he'll try and keep an eye on him and won't let him get hurt. Feeling a sense of safety, Harry wanders from Louis, continuously turning around to make sure Louis is actually watching. This time it is Louis giving Harry an encouraging thumbs up.

Of course Louis is nervous about letting the young boy trail away from him in a crowded a bar, but as long as he has his eyes on him, he'll be okay. He isn't so sure himself what made him decide to let Harry do such a thing, especially so young. Perhaps he wants Harry to get a taste of freedom after years and years of seclusion as he revealed.

With a fear he has never felt before, and anxiety, Harry snakes through the crowd of people dancing to the music coming out of the booming stereo. Around his thin body, he wraps his frail arms, settling in one spot smack dap in the middle of the dance floor. No one acknowledges his presence on the dance floor. With the lights dim and several people blocking his view, it is difficult for him to spot Louis, but he eventually does. And Louis spots Harry.

"I'll be over there soon," mouths Louis with a smile, putting up his pointer finger before turning to the bar he sits at, waiting for his drink.

Relief comes over Harry. Louis as well. As much as Louis wanted to give Harry the taste of freedom, he could sense the uncomfortable vibe Harry gave off and he himself doesn't trust the world. The world will hurt Harry if he goes off in it alone. It will tear him apart. That's why he is better off with Louis by his side, guiding him through the terrifying maze and fighting off any obstacles or dangers that get in the way of his happiness.

Before long, they are back together. Anyone could predict that would happen. Truly, they are attached at the hip.

"How does one make friends, Lou?" Harry asks over the ear-splitting music and other people attempting to do the same as him. He releases his arms from his own body and tugs on Louis' shirt sleeve on the arm of the hand that doesn't hold the alcoholic beverage.

Leaning closer with an endearing smile radiating like diamonds under the sun, Louis nearly yells, "Let's just dance and see if it takes us anywhere."

Seeing the confusion in the boy's emerald eyes, he slides his arm from Harry's tight grasp and interlocks their fingers. Slowly, side to side, he rocks their hands. The rocking of their hands, which soon becomes the rocking of their bodies, doesn't match the tempo of the song. It is a pop song that usually Louis would hate, but Harry gives a liking to. His happiness is contagious.

The odd stares they receive from around them bring a discomfort to Louis, but Harry doesn't notice. His complete, undivided attention is on the man in front of his eyes. Yes, there are at least nine dozen people in there, all unique and different, some more attractive than others- maybe some more attractive than Louis (if that were possible). But why would Harry give them any thought when the most loving, handsome, tenderhearted man is holding his hand and spinning him in circles and telling him he looks like an angel?

The moment is interrupted suddenly, reminding Harry that there are other people in the world than just him and Louis.

"Louis?!" says an Irish accent off to the side of Louis' left ear. "You were incredible on stage, lad!"

Lashing his head, Louis' eyes widen and arms immediately spread out for a hug from his long-time-no-see-friend. Only slightly disappointed is Harry that their hands disconnected, but the joy in his eyes vanishes any dismay or possible jealousy.

Bringing the tall blonde man into a tight embrace, Louis exclaims, "Thanks, Niall! What's been happening?"

After the countless times Louis casually brought up his old band, it is delightful to finally meet one of them members. Numerous times, Louis has brought up Niall, his crazy shenanigans and outgoing personality. All of what Louis told Harry of Niall was true.

The two close men catch up, mentioning their love lives and careers. Louis introduces Harry to his mate and they shake hands in a polite manner. Niall is gentle with the small boy, observing the awkwardness in his movements and tenseness in his eyes. He isn't too surprised to hear that Louis took in the teenager. Ever since he met the man he has been kind to everyone, avoiding any situation he could where he might break a person's heart.

Another thing hasn't changed that Niall noticed when it came to the protection Louis has over Harry- he gets attached quickly and loves hard. A little skeptical Niall is of how affectionate Louis gets with the boy, but he supposes it could be the alcohol effecting his judgment. Both men have had a lot to drink, glass after glass of whiskey and beer, all of it being paid by Niall who makes good cash as a music engineer. Harry sips on his soda pop and decided not to stop Louis from drinking too much. He is having fun, is all, right?

By the end of the night, the boy knows this was wrong of him, that he should have stopped him sooner. Niall leaves a bit before midnight, saying he has to get home to his lover. Louis says the same later on, but barely realizes he is saying it. His eyes are heavy and he can't walk straight or think straight, for that matter. No way could the man drive.

Harry tugs Louis to the car by his hand, leading him into the driver's seat and then going into the passenger seat himself.

"Maybe we should just sleep here tonight," suggest Harry, looking across at Louis concernedly.

Scrunching up his forehead and squinting his bloodshot eyes, Louis attempted to look at Harry with vision blurry. He reaches out his hand and immediately Harry takes it in his.

"But you're so far away," Louis slurs, smiling loosely at the younger boy.

Harry smiles back although he isn't sure if Louis is okay. He's never had to deal with a drunk person this way. He could always tell when his uncle was drunk and when he was he would beat Harry extra hard because he was extra angry. A fear crept upon Harry when thinking about his uncle this way, a fear that Louis might treat him that same way. So far he has noticed no trace of anger, only gentle touches as he leans over to entwine his fingers with Harry's.

Taking that as consent, Harry leads him to the back seat quickly. They sit close, so close that Harry can smell the alcohol in Louis' breath.

Not fully understanding how drunk Louis really is, he decides while alone with him he could tell the man everything about his past. Something interrupted him, unfortunately. Even if he did have the chance to come clean to him about the truth of everything, it's not like he would have remembered in the morning.

What interjected with Harry's sudden burst of confidence is a kiss- a lustful kiss. In surprise, the teenager's eyes widen as his lips are connected to Louis'. He is shocked by how much tongue and fiery passion is put into this kiss. Louis never kissed him like this before. Friends don't kiss like this, right?

Clouded are Louis' thoughts, not fully processing what he is doing. He isn't completely there mentally, but he knows he is enjoying it. Not a thought comes to his mind about his lover at home, about how young the boy is, or how wrong it is in general. On the other hand, Harry is fully aware. He is fully aware as Lou's skinny arms wrap around his neck and his legs go on each side of his thin waist. This new kissing is something he isn't sure he enjoys and he misses the sweet, tender kisses they once exchanged, but there is something about this kiss that makes him want more. What more is there?

The confusion only increased as the kiss came to its end and Louis muttered the three breathy, drunken words that left Harry dumbfounded.

"I love you."


	11. Chapter 11

Affection was something Harry was never used to receiving until he met Louis. Louis showed him all of the love in the world and more. At first it all seemed nice and innocent, as a brother would treat a younger sibling, casual kisses on the cheeks here and there and a cuddle in the afternoon. Then, a dramatic shift was taken in their lives- a dramatic shift that changed the way they looked at each other forever.

In silence, Harry sits, staring at the brick wall of the bar straight ahead of him. He moved to the passenger seat early that morning, abandoning the man in the back seat to rest. He told him "I love you." He said it. His two drunk lips produced those words. Harry knows he was drunk, sloppy drunk, falling over and slurring his words. He couldn't help but feel warm inside after those words, though, even if they weren't genuine. He could always hope that they were true. So he did.

He looks back at Louis' serene, sleeping face. The light of the morning sun peered through the window, shining down on his face. Harry enjoys admiring Louis, especially when the man doesn't notice. He admires his tan skin, blue eyes, and even his fringe that falls in his face. The man often makes him wonder. 

Why does he stay with Eleanor if she treats him like shit? Why not fall for someone who will treat him with the respect he deserves? What is he thinking? 

He wondered that most of all, what he was thinking when he looked into the young boy's green eyes or held him to his chest. It seemed he gave the boy more affection than he did his wife. Harry doesn't know why, especially after the night before, the several lustful kisses exchanged and those three words. Those words may be consuming Harry's every thought.

In the backseat, Louis begins to move around, rubbing his eyes before stretching his arms out from his body. A long yawn, he released. His blurry eyes start to focus on his surroundings. When he spots Harry in the passenger seat watching him attentively, he grins. The kid always puts a smile on his face. He sits up a little too quickly, an excruciating pain stabbing him in the head. His hands rub his temples.

Harry eyes him with concern. "How do you feel?" He recalls his uncle always complaining the next day about drinking too much. Those days were his crankiest. Louis didn't seem too cranky, just discomforted. "Should we get home so you can rest?"

Not yet does the teenager want to mention the night before. If anything, he'd wait to see if Louis remembered.

Louis nods, slowly making his way out of the back door and then entering the driver's side. Harry can't meet the man's eyes as he gets in. It feels tense to him, the air thick, so thick that he is finding it difficult to breathe. To the man, however, it's just another morning after a crazy night at the bar. Unaware, he is, of the mistake he has made.

"I can't remember much," Louis whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really should have stopped after two."

'Kisses or drinks?' Harry thinks to himself, fiddling with his fingers awkwardly.

Louis starts the engine, turning his head to Harry. "Why so quiet? Usually you would be talking my ear off right about now." The boy shrugs, but Louis knows something is up. "Did I say something last night? Oh shit, I forgot to text Eleanor, didn't I?"

'That isn't what I was concerned about, but yeah.' Harry looks out the window uncomfortably as the car moves. Louis is so worried about what Eleanor may say that he barely acknowledges Harry's uneasiness anymore. But he still reaches over and takes the boy's hand. He knew it would comfort the boy a bit, whatever may be bothering him. A little part of Harry was glad Louis took his hand. He always felt so clingy when it came to Louis. When Louis expressed love towards him, it made him feel very special.

Now if only he knew if last night was Louis truly expressing his love or just a drunk slip. If it wasn't a drunk mistake, then why wasn't he saying anything about it? Harry didn't want it to be a drunk mistake, but he was slowly losing faith.

Right as they pull up to the house, Eleanor rushes out the door, anger in her eyes. There is a bit of worry, but mostly anger. Lots of anger. That is nothing new. Seeing the distress in the woman's face, Louis sighs loudly.

"Harry," he said, facing the young boy. Harry still stared out the window, avoiding Louis' eyes and Eleanor's angry glare. "I want you to go straight to the spare bedroom, alright? I'll be there in a bit so we can cuddle and such, yeah?"

Looking down at their holding hands, Harry is still confused and fraught. Holding in what happened was driving him nuts. He just didn't want to show it.

Louis rubs the back of Harry's hand. "I figured after our long night at the bar we could use some rest."

Harry shrugs. "Sure." His lack of enthusiasm was amusing to him. It was the only part of the situation that was slightly funny. Ever since he met Louis he had never been so happy. The simple touch of Louis' fingers against his skin made him giddy. His kisses made him the happiest person in the world. But this kiss- these kisses- were different. They were filled with so much power unlike all of the other kisses they exchanged before. Yet, Louis doesn't remember any of it.

Leaving the car first is Louis, Harry following close behind. While Eleanor is immediately on to Louis, the younger one sneaks past, speed walking towards the house. Eleanor still acknowledges the frightened teen, but focuses most of her attention on her husband.

Harry watches from the front porch for awhile, listening to her yell at Louis for never coming home and not texting or calling her to let her know where he was. Not wanting to listen any longer, Harry rushes inside and hides himself in the spare room like Louis told him to go do.

Meanwhile Louis was facing his wife's angry words. He let her rant before saying his own thoughts. He has had to face her wrath enough to know when to speak and when not to.

Her face was growing red. "Where did you two sleep?"

"In the car."

"Together?"

"Well, yeah," Louis says, putting out his hand sassily. "There's no way I could have driven us home safely."

She lets out an exhausted huff, rolling her eyes.

"I wasn't thinking clearly-"

"Because that brat was on your mind," she spat in disgust. She crossed her arms, studying Louis as his expression slowly changed to an aggravated one. "He is always on your mind nowadays, he's all you talk about-"

"Are you seriously jealous of a sixteen year old boy?" he chuckled with a hint of irritation. "I don't think of him that way if that's what you're so worried about."

She released a long exhale, peering down at her sandals. "Of course not," she sighed.

Louis' mind went back to the moment in particular when Harry had said Eleanor treated him differently. When Louis asked how, the boy responded that he couldn't tell or else he would get in trouble. The fear in Harry's angel eyes brought tremendous amounts of sadness to Louis' heart. The amounts of anger Eleanor expresses when it comes to the boy makes Louis wonder. Would El go to the extent of hurting him, harassing him with words or actions? El never hurt Louis before so would she even consider harming the vulnerable young boy?

Rubbing his forehead, Louis says, "I'm sorry, okay? I should have called. It was irresponsible of me."

She pulled him in for a hug, tucking her head into his shoulder. Louis made a face of discomfort, moving his head to try and become a bit more snug. She squeezed tight which only brought more discomfort to him. 

He would never tell her this, but he truly never enjoyed cuddling or simply hugging her, when she actually wanted to, that is. She was always horny more so than cuddly. He was the complete opposite. He enjoyed wrapping his arms loosely around someone's body, playing with their hair, and peppering their face with light kisses. He couldn't do that with her. She didn't prefer that type of affection. Waking up to her makeup on his shoulder was something he never enjoyed most of all. They way she laid with her body on top of his was also something that brought much aggravation. He never would feel content. Not with her...

"Can you promise me something," she asks in an innocently sweet voice.

This usually doesn't end well, but he nods. She pulls away from the embrace and looks straight into her eyes as she says with an almost unnoticeable smirk, "Please don't leave the house alone with Harry. I don't want you going anywhere outside this house alone with him."

Louis wanted to argue, tell her that if it weren't for Harry he would have tried to drive home last night, drunk and all. And if it weren't for him all of the other times, he would have drank too much. He wanted to argue that there is absolutely nothing wrong with the boy. He is innocent, insecure, and quiet. He doesn't cause any trouble. Most of all, Harry makes him happy and if he clearly makes him happy then why doesn't she like him?

Instead, he simply nods in understanding, far too tired and hung over to protest. "Sure. I can do that."

She leads him inside after that. She goes to the kitchen to wash dishes while he sneaks by towards the spare bedroom where Harry was waiting for him. He inched his way inside, softly shutting the door behind him. Across the room laying with his back facing Louis was the innocent boy, curled into a ball under the blanket.

Now Louis could focus on him rather than the drama his wife possessed. He is indeed annoyed with Eleanor, as he is often, but he also feels bad. She had no idea how unfaithful he was, sharing little kisses with Harry here and there when he really should be kissing her. She is his wife.

Little does she know how unfaithful he actually is. Little does he know...

He slowly slides under the covers behind Harry, wrapping an arm around his waist, still bony even after lots of gained weight. His longer legs slide perfectly into Harry's bent legs. The contact brings Louis lots of pleasure and comfort. He nuzzles his nose into Harry's curls, smiling at the way they tickle his face. Everything seems faultless when he held him in his arms.

"Lou..." a small voice whispers, tensing up as Louis' hand rubs Harry's thin tummy. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it, sweetie?" Louis asks softly, stroking his skin tenderly. "You've been acting strange since we woke up."

With Louis' arm still around him, Harry turns to his other side, facing him, yet avoiding his eyes. Harry has always been mysterious, hiding several secrets and feelings, but never had Louis seen him this upset or worried or whatever he may be feeling. It should be a talent, disguising your true feeling, Louis thinks. His friends have always been able to identify if he were sad when he was trying to act happy or the other way around. Even Eleanor can read his expressions. Louis wears his heart on his sleeve even when he doesn't want to.

"Last night," begins Harry, "we did something I feel like we weren't supposed to." His voice shakes and he has to force himself to look at Louis.

"H, you're making me nervous," speaks Louis, caressing his cheeks benevolently. "Just tell me. It's alright."

A deep breath, Harry sucks in. "You kissed me."

"I have before," Louis responds, his heart picking up its pace.

"Not like this... You kissed me like the people in the movie and you sat in my lap and told me something I wasn't expecting."

"C'mon, babe. Spit it out-"

"You told me you loved me."

Louis can feel his stomach drop to the floor. Not knowing what to do with himself next, he holds Harry tight against his chest, letting the boy rest his head against his shoulder.

He does love the boy, loves him in ways he doesn't understand, but he couldn't love him romantically. He is attached, yeah. He is fond of the boy, yeah. He loves receiving affection from the boy and giving him affection. That can't mean anything, he thinks. That couldn't mean anything, right?

"I was drunk, H. I didn't know what I was doing..."

Harry frowns disappointedly. He put too much faith in him. "Oh... but do you love me as a friend would love another?"

With a simple, sweet kiss on his forehead that causes Harry to smile, the man says, "I love somewhere in between."

For awhile they lay there in one another's arms, savoring the touch of the other's hands and feeling their hearts beating in time. Harry recalls how he was going to tell the man about his haunting past Louis was so eager to know of. He planned out word for word of what he was going to say and he felt confident in telling him. He trusts Louis with his life. This may be because he literally handed his life over to him, letting him nurse him back to health and care for him in a way no one has cared for him in years. For that, Louis deserves to know the truth.

He looks into Louis' dark blue eyes. "Can I tell you something else?"

"Of course. Anything, love."

Harry takes a deep breath.


	12. Chapter 12

Telling Louis about his past is quite possibly the worst yet most relieving thing Harry has ever done. It wasn't difficult to tell him. Talking to Louis has always been easy. He listens to him, attentive eyes and nodding his head in encouragement. He comments at just the right times and rubs his arm. It is still rough to talk of it, nonetheless. Never has the teen discussed the past in depth with anyone before, not like he did with this man.

He starts with explaining his childhood more, average as many childhoods are. He had a mum and a sister and... his dad. While his mum was loving and caring, his dad wasn't as much. In fact, his father was a lot like his brother, Harry's uncle. He drank too much, smoked too much, and was out too much as well. From what he can remember, he didn't like his father very much- if at all. It wasn't completely his fault, though. His father had some mental issues, some kind of personality disorder Harry can't recall the name of. Sometimes Harry wonders if he has some mental issues of his own. Being locked up in a basement, how would you not go insane after a few years?

Uncontrollably, the boy cries at the memories. Louis tries quieting him down, knowing Eleanor is probably in the other room, listening to the chaos occur. He also does not like when the boy cries. He deserves happiness for once in his life.

"My dad murdered my family and I ran off as fast as I could to my uncle's home because he was just down the street..." Harry sobs out, gripping onto Louis' shirt tightly. "And he hid me in there and I thought I was happy there, but I wasn't happy at all. The only things I could smile about were if I got a tasty meal or if my uncle didn't hit me one day or if he played music upstairs that I could hum along to."

Harry finds himself hyperventilating, burying his face into the warmth of the man's chest. Louis rubs his back, shushing him comfortingly.

It all comes rushing back in Harry's mind. He can see dad's red face and snarled teeth. He can practically feel his dad slapping his face and pushing him into a corner, telling him to screw off before he got shot, too. He can hear his mother's screams and sister's cries. It feels like a century ago. The days were long in that lonely basement...

"I'm glad you are telling me this, H, but you don't have to continue," sweetly whispers Louis. He brushes his fingers through his manic curls, kissing his forehead while doing so "You've said enough."

"I want to tell you everything," insists Harry, nuzzling his nose into Louis' chest.

"What else is there to tell me?" questions Louis. He really does wonder. The boy told him a lot already about his abusive father and abusive uncle and all the pain he felt through the past several years. Could there possibly be more?

"I did something terrible."

A horrid feeling fills Louis' chest. The hoarseness and strain in the teen's voice... Louis knows something bad is coming, something terrifyingly terrible. Pulling back a bit, Louis peers into the pained greed eyes. Definitely something terrifyingly terrible.

"Harry?"

"I-"

"Just tell me, Harry. No more secrets between us, okay?"

"I killed my dad."

His eyes about pop out of his head and confusion and sorrow like no other consumes Louis' heart and mind. He was only a child. He was only a little, vulnerable child who could never be capable of killing a soul, not now and absolutely not then. But staring Harry dead in the eyes, he knows this is no joke. This is not anything Harry would joke about or consider joking about.

"H-How did you-"

"I don't remember," sobs Harry once more, covering his face in utter shame. "It happened so fast and I was just looking down at him while holding the little hand gun and... I am a terrible person."

"You were a kid, Harry," Louis consoles him. He continues stroking the boy's arm and hair and kissing between his eyebrows the way he does. Not completely does Louis understand how a child could do such a thing, aim a gun and actually have the strength to pull the trigger, but he believes him. "And perhaps he deserved it. He killed your mum and sister."

"But I killed someone, Lou. I'm a murderer-"

"Don't say that. You have too big of a heart to be a murderer, love. Don't say that."

All along that has been what was truly bothering Harry and has been so hard to say. He could have easily told Louis about the death of his mum and sister, how terrible of a man his father was. What he couldn't easily admit to was how he was a terrible person, or at least how he considered himself to be a terrible person.

"I've been trying to convince myself that my childhood was some beautiful time, perfect other than the evil that was my dad," resumes Harry, "but really, it all ended in pain and that pain is all I can think about anymore and I feel broken and scarred and I can't stop-"

"Harry," interrupts Louis, pulling the smaller body into his. Tears of the boy soak into his shirt and he can feel them on his skin, seeping into him. " Calm down, sweetie. Calm down."

Gradually, Harry's heartbeat slows down, breathing reaching a normal pace. In his arms, he is a bit calmer- a lot calmer, actually. Honestly, he hasn't felt this much peace since his mum, when she wasn't crying over his father. Honestly, he really likes Louis' arms. He really likes Louis' chest, eyes, smile, and voice laced with tender kindness. Honestly, he just really likes Louis.

"That was then, sweetheart," Louis whispers into his hair, rubbing the small of his bony back. "That was then and this is now and now you don't have to worry about your dad or your uncle or any of your past regrets. You have this now. You have a home now and a comfortable bed in a room that we might as well make yours."

"And I have you," says Harry, sniffling a bit still.

Louis smiles, burying his face even more so into his curls. "And you have me," he repeats.

"I'd have nothing if I didn't have you."

"You don't know that-"

"But I do," insists Harry, once again pulling from Louis' tight grasp and looking into his deep blue eyes. "Where would I be without you?"

It is a good question. If Louis wouldn't have found him hiding in the corner of his tiny shed, where would Harry be now? Would he be on the streets or would someone have found him by now? They would never love him more than Louis does, no matter how lovable the boy is. That is what Louis is sure of.

"Are you happy here, Harry?"

Turning his face so he can rest it against Louis' chest, he replies, "Yes, of course I am happy." He slides his arm around Louis' waist. "Are you?"

"Yeah," smiles Louis, ruffling the boy's hair. "I have you."

"And Eleanor..."

The simple mention of her name causes Louis to shudder. Harry notices, too. He peers up at him slightly, rubbing his waist in a comforting type of way. He doesn't know what is truly happening between Louis and his wife, but he sees the way she is around him and the way she speaks to Louis of him. Does he think Louis deserves a woman like that? Not at all does he feel that way. He doesn't deserve that love and if he accepts that kind of love then he's got it all wrong. If he accepts that kind of love, he doesn't know his true potential.

Louis sighs, "Yeah..."

"You don't sound happy."

"I didn't always feel this way," states Louis with a frown on his face.

"Is it because of me?" worriedly asks Harry. The idea of ruining something as serious as a marriage is unsettling. The idea of ruining or putting stress upon anyone is unsettling.

"No." Louis scratches at Harry's head gently. "Sometimes it just takes the right person to come along to make you realize how badly you're being treated."

"I can relate," slightly giggles Harry. At the sound, Louis smiles, endearingly tickling Harry's side. Even more giggles leave Harry's plump lips. "I was trying to have a serious moment, Louis!"

"We've been serious enough, you doof. Have some fun!" He continues tickling his sides. Harry curls his toes and arches his back at the tingling feelings going down his body. His lips curve at the sides even more, looking down at the joyous boy lashing under his hands.

Noticing Harry so out of breath from the constant laughter, he rests his hands on the boy's sides, grinning widely at him still. Harry smiles up at Louis as well, brain focusing mostly on one thought- having fun. There was one part of his childhood he recalls clearly and was definitely fun.

"Lou, do you think we could go out for ice cream?"

At first Louis holds his smile. Adorable is this little sixteen year old. But he remember those words spoken by his wife before he gets too excited over the idea.

"I have something to tell you, H." Louis lies back down completely, his face shifting to a much more serious one, smile disappearing as well as those crinkles by his eyes Harry loves to admire.

The huge grin on Harry's face vanishes as well and as Louis lays back down on his side to face Harry, he wraps his arm loosely around his waist as it was before. It fits well around his waist.

"Tell me."

"Eleanor doesn't want us to leave the house alone together any longer."

Immediate confusion floods over Harry. He raises an eyebrow at him. "Not even for ice cream?"

"I'm afraid not," sighs Louis, petting the side of Harry's face benevolently.

"Doesn't she trust you?"

"I wouldn't trust me if I were her... We've kissed."

Even more confusion comes over him. "But friends kiss."

This is when the truth is faced- on both sides.

"Friends don't kiss, Harry."

"But you said-"

"I know," Louis huffs, frustrated as he runs his hand through his own hair. "I lied, okay?"

Tears come to Harry's eyes. "Why would you lie?"

"Because I wanted to kiss you."

When it comes out of his own mouth, Louis realizes then how much of a fucking idiot he really is. But perhaps it isn't so crazy. Love, true love, that is hard to find with his wife. Is it really like that insane that for once in a long, long time he actually wants to receive affection? Is it really that insane that he wants to kiss on someone who he could potentially have feelings for?

His life isn't nearly as hard as Harry's has been, but that doesn't mean he didn't go through a rough time as well. No luck has Louis had in the world of love, feeling hopeless when it comes to relationships and feeling pressure to marry because of feeling hopeless with relationships.

This can't be love, right? But if it isn't the love Louis has been yearning for all this time, yet claims he doesn't need, then what is it?

He just makes him very happy...

But he doesn't explain why Louis pressed his lips to the boy's or why he pulled him in closer or why he held that kiss longer than necessary right after he had just told him that friends don't kiss. People don't kiss other people simply because that person makes them "very happy." There is always something more behind it, always more of a reason.

He can't explain it to himself or Harry. He especially can't explain it to Eleanor as she walks through the bedroom door and catches their locked lips. Again, Louis is a fucking idiot.

But perhaps it isn't so crazy.


	13. Chapter 13

Louis lays completely frozen next to Harry, staring at Eleanor with wide eyes while biting his lips nervously. He doesn't have the nerve to turn his head to simply look at Harry with Eleanor furiously staring at him. So he tries not to acknowledge Harry shuddering under the blankets and hiding his face away while wishing he could sink deeper into the bed until he disappeared. He hears the teen's fearful cries, however, and he feels one of his hands under the comforter grasping his desperately. All Louis can do is gawk at Eleanor who stands in the doorway preparing to explode.

As time slowly tick by and the only sounds are Harry's sobs and the pounding of Louis' heart, Eleanor's face grows more and more red, as red as a beet and her eyes like fire. They look sharp like the edge of a knife and as piercing as an arrow.

Louis cannot breathe, almost as if all of the oxygen has been vacuumed out of the room. He cannot speak. He is hoping Eleanor will first, but she doesn't. She doesn't know where to start, Louis guesses. Wasn't it just a little bit earlier when her husband had said nothing was going on between him and Harry? Is he lying? Does he know?

Honestly, Louis doesn't know and it tears him apart. It tears him apart that he doesn't know what he feels, but more so that he is unfaithful. He is unfaithful to someone who treats him like shit, yeah, but still unfaithful. Part of being a good husband is honoring the other and giving them the respect they deserve and no one deserves to be cheated on.

In all other spectrums of his life, he treats her the way he thinks she should be. He provides for her, working jobs at bars doing what he loves while she works around the house and takes care of a pregnant Sophia when her husband is at work. He tries his best to love her unconditionally, despite her constantly putting him down with her words like knives. That is what husbands are supposed to do and Louis decided to bend the rules. It wasn't the smartest of him to do.

"Louis," Eleanor breathes out, clenching her hands into tight fists. "Can we talk... alone?"

The tone of her voice scares Louis. It's that tone of voice where she is trying to sound like she isn't mad, but she clearly is. The redness of her face only increases as she steps into the hallway. Tight is Louis' chest when he finally does decide to glance at Harry. The boy is almost completely hidden under the blanket. Not wanting to stay too long in the room, Louis quickly pulls the blanket away to expose Harry's tears and bloodshot eyes.

In an almost incoherent whisper, Louis speaks into his ear, "You're alright. Don't worry." He presses a kiss to Harry's cheek without thought before meeting his wife in the hall.

Harry watches him walk away the entire time, tears still escaping his green eyes, but he holds back his sobs to please Louis. He already has enough to worry about. He doesn't need the man to worry about him, too. Taking deep breaths, he hides himself under the blanket again. It's darker under there kind of like the basement he spent years inside. Nothing could hurt him in that basement, not until his uncle would come to visit, that is. Nothing can hurt him under the blanket, Harry thinks. But he still wishes it were Louis protecting him alternatively, his arms wrapped around him. Sometimes he has to remind himself that Louis has a wife to wrap his arms around instead, but why doesn't he ever?

"What in the world did I just walk in on?" Louis' wife almost shouts as he walks into the hall. "You don't think of him that way, huh?" She roughly pokes at his shoulder.

Louis doesn't know what to say. He stands stupidly in front of her, speechless with sweaty palms. If he says anything it could make it worse so he decides it'd be better if he stayed silent. Luckily, she speaks.

"We can't keep him here."

But he can't stay silent after she says something like that.

Louis shakes his head at a high speed, wide eyed. "No, we can't kick him out," he refuses. He tries grabbing the side of her arms, but she pulls away. "He needs me- us. You have no idea what he's been through-"

"You're right. I don't know and I don't care to be quite honest," she spits, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "He'll be fine in a group home or something."

He shakes his head again. "He needs to be with us."

"So you can kiss on him more like the cheating whore you are?"

Taken aback, Louis gapes at her in shock. His wife has always been straight forward about the way she feels, but never quite like this. This is harsh, but he deserves to be called that, he thinks. That is what he feels like he is. So, he doesn't let himself get too offended.

"I know what I did was wrong," he says in a small, ashamed voice. He runs his fingers through his hair uncomfortably, not knowing where to put his hands. No longer does he attempt to touch his stubborn wife. "I know and I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it up to you, but we can't send him away."

"I don't want him here if you're kissing on him and who knows what else," she snarls, scowling into the room behind him. "I don't know what you've been doing with him these past weeks and I frankly don't want to know."

"Nothing!" I insist, putting up my hands defensively. "I'm in love with you."

"You're lying." She inches towards me angrily.

"No. I'm not-"

Right across his face he feels a sharp sting. He holds his hand to his cheek and tears come to his eyes. Eleanor is frozen while staring back at him. Once again, she doesn't know what to say. Neither does he.

"Louis, I..."

He refuses to pay her any more attention. He feels empty inside as he backs into the spare bedroom and shuts the door in her apologetic face. Leaning his forehead against the door with his eyes shut, he starts to cry.

He didn't deserve that.

From underneath the blanket, Harry peers over at he man concerned. Louis is supposed to be the strong one, the one who fights the tears and tries his best to keep everything under control. Usually he does pretty well, being the shoulder to cry on and the person to depend on. That's why Harry is so shocked by this sudden odd behavior. But he'd be crying, too. He's been in Louis' shoes.

The tears stream rapidly down his golden cheeks and his hands shake as he holds them to the closed door. On the other side, Eleanor makes no noise and neither Harry or Louis know if she is still there.

"How much did you hear?" Louis whimpers without looking over at the boy. He wipes his tears away and brushes his hand through his messy hair, attempting to control himself.

"All of it," sniffles Harry, completely exposing his face. Towards Louis, he extends his arm, wiggling his fingers for him to take. "Did she hurt you?"

He almost doesn't want to answer Harry, but he used such a sweet voice that is hard not reply to. He inches his way towards him, keeping his head does, but averting his eyes to Harry's every once in a while.

Just like Harry isn't, he isn't used to this vulnerable side to himself. He always tries to "act like a man," hiding how he is actually feeling. Feeling someone else's arms wrap around him for once is something very different. It's something different for Harry, too. It's definitely a role reversal.

Tucking his head into Harry's neck, he whispers, "Yeah... Maybe I deserved it."

Anger strikes within the boy. "Why would you say that?"

"I kissed you and admitted feelings to you and-"

"But you don't deserve to be hit."

"But maybe I do."

"Do you think I deserve to be hit?"

This question makes a familiar feeling build in Louis, the thought to Harry hurting. He has been through enough pain, hasn't he? Never before had Louis felt emotionally unstable with the thought of someone else hurting until this boy. Something inside of him stirs.

"Of course not, love," Louis insists, tucking his head further into his neck. "You've done nothing wrong." After all, he didn't know it was wrong to kiss Louis although he's married. He still did, though. So does that make it wrong?

"Everyone makes mistakes, Lou. Including me. Should everyone in the world be hit for their mistakes?"

"No. I suppose not." Louis notices Harry is thinking deeper than he thought he could, although his mind does wander to wondrous places, wondrous places that make Louis think as well. He never had to think too much in depth before this boy.

"Why do you stay with someone who hurts you?"

This was the first time he had been hurt by his wife, he tries telling himself. Physically hurt, yes, but all of the other times... She likes to use her words as weapons. She uses her words to hurt him instead of actions like she probably wishes she could and just did. She hurts him over and over again and he sits there and lets it happen. Why? He has always thought he deserved it.

Now that Harry has come along, he is questioning this logic. He is questioning love.

"Why would you stay with someone who probably wouldn't care about losing you?" Harry asks in a whisper a few moments later. "What if eventually you have held onto her for so long that you lose yourself? She doesn't treat you like she doesn't want to lose you. She treats you like you're nothing and you're not nothing. You're everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything to me."

Further into him he pulls Harry because he is the only part of his like right now that makes sense. He is the only part of his life right now that he doesn't want to change.

He hates change.


	14. Chapter 14

Four AM. It's the earliest Louis willingly wakes up in the morning and the only time he is alone. It is four hours before Eleanor wakes up and leaves the house with more makeup than necessary to meet with her friends and go shopping with money they don't have. It is five hours before Harry wakes up and realizes how cold and empty the bed is and sleepily drags his feet into the living room to cuddle with the warm man who is everything to him.

At four AM, Louis sits lonely in a silent room with a cup of coffee between his hands and a blanket draped over his shoulders. Every once in awhile he'll pick up his phone to read a text he received from one of his friends, one being from Liam who was excited about his wife's due date being a month from now and another from Zayn about his new job as a DJ. Louis wouldn't respond, though. Between four and eight AM, it is his time and only his time.

You'd think it would get boring, sitting there in a room with the only sounds being the ticks of the clock on the wall and his quiet breathing, but his thoughts seemed loud enough to wake everybody in the house. Even when he tried not to think, the haunting thoughts would creep up on him again and surprise attack him and again he would be thinking over everything too deeply to the point where he didn't know how he felt anymore. He didn't know how he felt about anything.

Sometimes the thoughts become too much and he curls into a ball after setting his coffee off to the side. He'll stuff his face into the blanket, crying silently. It's all a bit too much. Before, he used to roll though his life like it was nothing, same routine everyday; provide for wife, please wife, please parents by having wife, write songs no one will hear, miss the days when life was something... Life was nothing. He felt empty. Then, someone came along and made it something. Dreams were dancing within his eyes again.

"You make me very happy," Louis whispered to the boy in his arms one morning on the couch. Harry had his head on Louis' broad shoulder, fitting it perfectly into the crook of his neck. He'd deeply breath in his scent of vanilla and aftershave, two smells Harry has grown to adore.

"Does Eleanor make you happy?" whispered Harry. A blush still lingered on his cheeks from what Louis had said.

Louis sighed. "She is my wife."

"Does that matter?"

"Would you marry someone who doesn't make you happy?"

"No," simply answered Harry. Tighter, he wrapped his arm around Louis. "Isn't that the point of marriage, to be with someone who puts light in your eyes and makes you feel real?"

"How do you know so much?"

"I've had too much time to think."

Louis could say the same about the last month and a half. An entire month and a half of this has gone on, waking up at four AM to simply think about everything. For an entire month and a half, Eleanor and him barely spoke to one another. He no longer wraps his arms around her in the middle of the night in an attempt to make her feel safe and she no longer complains about how little of money he makes. They still murmur "I love you" in the morning and "make love" in the afternoon. She is too afraid of saying the wrong words after what she did to him. He is too afraid of doing the wrong things after what she did to him and what he did to her. 

Harry only wonders more and more everyday why Louis would stay with her. Occasionally he wonders if he never came along if all of these conflicts would have occurred or if Louis would have ever noticed how poorly he has been treated.

At around five AM, Louis calls his dad when he knows he is getting ready for work. He tells him everything is good. He fakes laughs and sends pictures. He ends up telling him about Harry. Over the phone, he can hear his curious hums when he is trying to understand. He is trying to understand as well, but he never tries too hard. He may not need to understand. He may just keep rolling on through life like a loose stone.

"You have a beautiful voice, H," Louis said to the boy one afternoon when Eleanor was still gone. They sat on the floor of his bedroom. Gathered in Harry's arms was the large guitar that he strummed without any knowledge of how to play.

Harry shyly smiled over at him, ducking his head down, allowing his growing hair to fall in his face. He liked when Louis absent mindedly played with his hair. Cutting it might prevent that from happening anymore.

"Maybe one night you could sing with me at the bar."

Shocked, Harry lifted his head. "Eleanor wouldn't allow such a thing."

"She wouldn't have to know," secretly breathed Louis, leaning closer into Harry and squeezing his shoulder. "She is never home by the time I come home from the gigs anyways."

"What would happen if she caught us?"

Louis scoffed. "Absolutely nothing."

"How can you be so sure?"

After scooting closer to him on the carpeted floor, Louis slid an arm around his waist while his other hand plucked at the guitar strings. "She'd be too scared to do anything."

"But I might be too shy to sing, Lou."

The way the boy ran his hand against the back of his neck and stuttered his words before biting his bottom lip in embarrassment drove Louis wild. It drove him so wild that he didn't know what to say at first. All he could do was press a kiss to the bashful boy's head and whisper that as long as Louis sang with him, he knew everything would be alright. Louis makes him strong.

It was a chilly night the evening Louis conjured up every ounce of courage to bring Harry along, not asking Eleanor for permission or telling her what was happening. She was at Liam and Sophia's place. She wouldn't know.

Louis bundled up Harry in a warm coat he bought for him and sat him close when in the car. On the way, they practiced one of the songs acapella, Louis doing all of the harmonizing to the boy's sweet voice. He thought they sounded great. Would they during the actual performance? He hoped so.

Harry helped set up the equipment the best his weak muscles could. They are not as weak as they used to be. Louis has been helping build his muscles stronger. Nonetheless, it took five minutes for Harry to haul a speaker from the car to the stage. Louis offered to help, but Harry obliged.

"I'm sixteen and I don't need help," huffed Harry as he pulled it across the small stage. He blew hair from his red face while growing slightly frustrated, but refusing to show it too much.

"If you say so, kid."

Ten minutes later when dragging a box of microphones and cords along the wooden floor, he looked at Louis with pleading eyes. "I'm sixteen and I could use a little help." Fondly, Louis chuckled and effortlessly picked up the box.

Harry felt nervous about to go on stage, hugging himself with shaky hands. In front of him, Louis stands before pulling him to the side of the stage. He grips his arms on each side and leans his forehead against his. No words does he speak. All he needs to do to calm Harry's pounding heart is press his lips between his eyebrows the way he does and rub his hands along his arms.

Harry hums at the warm contact. "You make me very happy, too."

"That's random."

"No. It's just how I feel. I thought I'd let you know."

In the middle of the stage they sat on two black stools. The spotlight in the middle of the stage they sat on focused on them, but no eyes were. This made Harry less nervous. If no one was paying attention then there was nothing to fear.

"If you're a regular Black 17 costumer then you probably know me," speaks Louis into the microphone. Only a few faces turn to look at them while the rest continue sipping their drinks and conversing with fellow drunks. "I'm Louis and this is a good friend of mine with a wonderful voice." He smiled cheekily over at the boy. "Harry is his name. Prepare to be amazed."

No response. Harry snickers beside Louis. The man only shrugs and asks if he is ready. Eager to get it over with, Harry nods quickly. So Louis begins, strumming at the guitar slowly. He keeps his eyes locked on the boy. Harry looks back at him, too, falling deeper into the ocean blue globes of Louis' gorgeous face.

Singing with Harry is better than he thought it would be. It wasn't like singing with his old band members. He feels something like never before, emotions beyond compare. Perhaps he feels passion while he gets more and more into playing the guitar as Harry gets more and more into every word. They drive each other on, motivating one another to dig deeper into the meaning and feelings. Perhaps he feels love, actual love. All he knows is that he feels real and he hasn't felt that way in... When was the last time?

The song comes to an end. Applause and hollers explode in the small bar, all eyes on them. Louis and Harry pay them no attention. With eyes still locked, the sound of the other's voice is all they hear.

"You don't just make me very happy, Harry," says Louis, taking the boy's hand, entwining their fingers. "You're everything I've ever needed."

Holding nothing back, Harry kisses Louis' cheek and smiles joyously. "You're more than enough."

...I'd have nothing if they take you away.


	15. Chapter 15

Neither Harry or Louis knew if it was a good idea to do it, but they did it regardless. Despite what the consequences could have been, without considering them, they did it.

Eleanor was home. She was home during the night for the first time since Louis starting sneaking the boy out to his gigs. She was home meaning there was a risk of them getting caught. The smart thing to do would have been to keep Harry home with Eleanor, but Louis didn't want to.

Tears were streaming down Harry's face. "I know you have to leave me, but I really don't want to be alone with her."

"She won't hurt you," Louis insisted, although he wasn't for sure.

"But she might," Harry cried. He stuffed is face into Louis' chest, clinging onto his shirt. The older man was just about to leave the house to go to work, standing at the door with his hand on the door knob. When Harry came around the corner and appeared in the living room, however, he forgot what he was doing. "And what if I get mad and hurt her back? I'm a monster and you know it."

Scoffing and shaking his head in disbelief, Louis muttered, "You aren't a monster, H. Your past is your past. Try and forget." He rubbed Harry's back benevolently while closing his eyes. He closed his eyes, the comforting and warm feeling that Harry caused soothing him. "If she hurts you, call the bar. I'll leave my phone with you."

"No. Please," pleaded Harry. He peered up at Louis with round, tear-filled eyes. Desperately, he pulled at his shirt and whined, only triggering Louis' heart to melt more and more. "Don't leave me, please."

This was Louis' last straw, the only heartstring that needed to be pulled before he gave in, tugging the boy out the front door and towards the car. Prior to driving to the bar, he sent Eleanor a text, not wanting to actually talk to her at the moment. It told her that Harry was in the spare bedroom and had a headache, not wanting to be bothered. Hopefully that would be enough for her not to go in there and discover that he not only does not have a headache, but isn't actually in the house. It was a huge risk. Louis was dumb enough to think it would work.

Singing at the bar doesn't feel like a job if he has Harry with him. Not only does it make Louis more money when Harry is with him since the crowd enjoys it and tips him more, but it also give Louis happiness. At home, life seems a bit dull. The sun shines a bit brighter with Harry. Bringing Harry with him is like their escape, their escape from the harshness and wrath of Eleanor. It's an escape from reality. Looking across at Harry as he sings still fills him with a feeling he can't quite explain. He doesn't have to explain it, though. He doesn't have to know. All he knows is that he is feeling. That is enough to satisfy him.

Although all of the questions concerning Harry's past have been answered, Louis is still constantly curious about how he is feeling in return. The boy is good at sheltering away his feelings mostly because he doesn't know how to express them. He never had to before, hidden in the dark basement. Down there he never felt much of anything. No one was with him to make him feel. In a way, he can relate to Louis in that sense.

They're the reason both feel. They make each other feel.

"Lou. How do you know if you are in love?"

The question caught Louis off guard, so sudden while packing up their equipment after the show. They hadn't been talking too much the whole time. Harry asks about love often and he might've asked this same question before. Louis doesn't mind answering his several questions since no one could answer them when he lived with his uncle and Louis feels bad about that. Just sometimes, Louis doesn't know how to answer the questions.

"I think you just know."

"But how?"

It's not that often that he gets sentimental, but for Harry, he'd do anything.

Louis sighed. "Well, I think if you can imagine a future with them and think about them often, wondering what they are doing when you aren't with them... Those could be signs," he spoke in a low voice, peering into Harry's bright green eyes. "You also love their imperfections. You feel like yourself. You miss them when you aren't with them and feel empty when you're with someone else."

Completely indulged in the man's words, Harry nods, his curls bobbing up and down. To him, it seems like Louis knows exactly what he is talking about. Louis isn't so sure how he knows, but he continues.

"You overcome challenges with them and compromise to make things work for the both of you." Somehow his hand found its way to Harry's, resting it on top of his that lied on the surface of a closed box. "You think of being intimate with them. It's deep and passionate and forever." He leans in closer until their noses rest against each other's, the simple touch making Louis timid.

"I love you."

Those three words that came from Harry's mouth made his heart spring in his chest. All Louis could do in that moment was stand from where they were sat next to the box and begin carrying things outside. Those three words meant a lot to Harry. Those three words confused Louis more. It confused him so much that he attempted to avoid them for the rest of the night. They kept echoing in his head, however. He couldn't escape this.

"I know how I feel," Louis admitted as he started the car. "I just don't want to say it out loud.

From the passenger seat, Harry looked over, intrigued. "Why not?"

"It makes it real."

Louis drove them to the house in silence, feeling awkward and tense, yet somewhat comfortable with Harry near. Isn't it strange how again his hand somehow found its way to Harry's? Only this time their fingers intertwined and Louis felt at peace. That was until he pulls up in the driveway to see a certain female's face in the living room window.

"Louis."

"Be quiet, sweetheart," Louis says in a panic as he turns off the car after pulling his hand from Harry's. "She's going to be mad, but don't pay attention. Just go straight to your room."

"But, Lou-"

"Be quiet and go straight to your room. Now."

Huffing quietly, Harry gets out of car. Louis does the same before leading him up to the house. The younger one keeps his head down, frightened for himself and Louis. They have no one to blame, but themselves.

After Harry was sent to the room, Eleanor exploded. She barely waited for his door to close.

"I can't trust you anymore, Louis," she yells, shoving at his chest furiously. "What do you think you're doing sneaking out with him after I specifically said not to? We're married. We're supposed to be loyal."

Louis' cheeks grow red in humiliation. "I'm not going to argue with you. I'm just sorry."

"You lied. You've probably been lying this whole time."

"Why do you hate him so much that you've turned into some bitch?"

Her mouth gapes open and that is when Louis realizes he is still a fucking idiot.

"You were kissing him."

Louis lets out a sigh, looking down at the ground in shame. "I know and I'm sorry. I feel really, really bad. I regret it. I'll do whatever to make it up to you. You're my wife." The problem is, he doesn't know if he actually regrets it or not.

"Treat me like it."

He ran his fingers through his hair, continuing to not make eye contact with his wife who is practically shaking in anger. "I will, alright?"

Looking unconvinced, Eleanor nears her husband. She gets close enough that their toes touch, so close that it seems as if she is about to kiss him, but she has an angry expression. Her lips are snarled and eyes are glaring. He still didn't see it coming.

She slaps him.

She slaps him again, for the second time, and he feels even more empty in the presence of his wife. Stalking off to their bedroom after that, she is completely silent, almost as if it never happened.

Shocked, Louis only stands there frozen. Guilt pours over him. He is hurt, too, but still feels as if he deserves it. Maybe he deserves to be treated like nothing. Maybe he doesn't deserve anything more than nothing.

But then why would have God given him Harry?


	16. Chapter 16

Waking up, it almost felt like any other average day. The room was cold just the way Louis likes it, mostly so he can tightly pull the soft blanket around him. The atmosphere is strangely calm after the events that took place the night before. At the thought, the heavy weight on his chest and the straining feeling in his throat returned, heart pounding. Never in his life could he have predicted he would be afraid of someone who he is supposed to love. It is not meant to be that way. He may act like his knowledge of true love is little, but he knows enough; enough to know that this is not how you should feel about your lover.

You should feel like everything.

"Harry," he whispered to himself, a small smile on his face. The name rolls off of his tongue smoothly. It's not the most beautiful name ever heard, but still a beautiful name matched to one of the sweetest boys he has ever met. Correction- the sweetest boy he has ever met. All he has known for so long is evil, yet Harry is still able to see the bright side to nearly everything.

"They're taking me away."

The small voice causes Louis to turn his head instantly. There in the doorway with a backpack on his shoulders is the sweet sixteen year old boy with the beautiful name. Tears streamed down his face.

"Excuse me?" Louis gasped, immediately standing from the bed and approaching him. "Who's taking you away? What are you talking about?" He took Harry by the sides of his shoulders and pulled him closer into himself. Their noses touched, rubbing against each other.

"The men outside... They tell me I'm going somewhere nice to live with other kids until they find me a home," cried Harry. His hands shook as they grasped onto Louis' shirt desperately. He has never looked so helpless, not since that day Louis found him in the shed. "Do we trust them? Will I still get to see you? They told me to say my goodbyes, but-"

"Breathe, H." Louis stroked his cheek gently and whispered softly, but his breathing was choppy and his heart sped up rapidly. He thought he understood what was going on. It was all too familiar like a clouded dream, a nightmare. "I'll try to talk to Eleanor. Don't let go of my hand."

"I can't lose you, Lou," Harry sobbed out. He squeezed one of the man's hands with both of his, clutching it against his chest. Threading his fingers through his was comforting. "That's why you can't let go of my hand, love."

"I won't."

Walking down the hall with sunlight peaking through the windows of the rooms that have their doors open and beaming onto their paling skin, the nerves only bubbled up more. 'I can't lose Harry' repeated in Louis' mind over and over until it was a booming, screaming thought that could no longer be ignored.

"El?" Louis yelled as they entered the living room her and two men sat. They both had fancy suits on. A chill went down his spine for whatever reason. "What is going on?"

Her eyes met his, cold and harsh like the winter weather. "These nice men are going to take Harry to live in the orphanage around four hours from here." Both men and her stand to their feet. One even offered a hand to be shaken. Louis stubbornly declined, only tugging Harry closer to him.

"He doesn't need to go to an orphanage," insisted Louis, staring his wife down. The boy at his side shuddered and tightened the grip on his hand and soon his entire arm. Louis rubbed on of his hands as a way to comfort him. He needed a bit of comfort himself. "He's fine here with us. We can adopt him."

Eleanor attempted to walk closer to her husband, but both him and Harry backed away from her in sync. "It's what's best for us, Lou-"

"That's where you're wrong, Eleanor!" Louis interrupted. "I love this boy to death. We took him in when he needed us the most. We've been there for him since the beginning. Or should I say I was there? You never gave him a chance."

"Let's not do this right now," warned Eleanor, slightly embarrassed by his behavior. Her eyes shifted between him and the men. "I thought I made it quite clear before that he is tearing our marriage apart."

"It was never him. It was always my fault-"

"And so you don't need the temptation of him around, Lou. It's better this way and if you love me, you'll agree to this."

Louis is expected to agree. This is his wife, the woman he vowed to stand by in every choice she makes. Agreeing felt wrong, but he knows it is the right thing to do because it's his wife and his parents would want him to.

"Can't he live with someone we know, perhaps?" Louis pressed on after sucking in a deep breath. "I want to know he'll be alright."

"He will be okay with us," one man with gray hair on top of his round head spoke. "You can visit on the weekends-"

"Eleanor," interrupted Louis, turning his attention to her again. "We can't go through with this. I don't want to lose him. I am begging you."

Behind him, Harry was now, hands holding the cloth of Louis' shirt in fists. Never had he seen the man so desperate and upset. It made him sad himself.

"Don't argue with me, Louis."

The desperation in her own voice caused Louis to shut his mouth. He wasn't going to win this fight, not against her and two men whose minds were focused on bringing the teen boy with them. It was all set and done.

"Can I at least have a few more minutes with him?" Louis' voice is unexpectedly small and strained. This sensitive side is one Harry has gotten used to. He was always able to strip away the thick layers from Louis, the layers veiling who he really is.

Eleanor can hear this innocence in his voice, too, the vulnerable whisper that he utters hopelessly. So, she let them have their few more minutes knowing they'll never get to see each other again. Louis doesn't know that yet, but that's what she told the men, telling them to refuse letting him in the building when he came to visit. It is a cruel trick, but it is all part of her vicious plan- make him agree, take Harry away, and never see the dumb kid ever again.

That last moment they have until the weekend is all it is to Louis and Harry. It was their first goodbye, but not their last as far as they were concerned. They didn't treat the moment like their last, therefore. It was their first goodbye, a 'see you later.'

"Will I still be able to sing with you at the bar?" Harry asked as Louis sat him down on the edge of the bed in the bedroom the boy had made his own. His hands grasped onto his backpack straps until his knuckles turned white.

Louis rubbed his shoulder gently after noticing this. "I'm afraid not, babe, but when I come to visit we can sing. Maybe the other kids will want to listen, yeah?"

"Who will be there when I have nightmares?"

"You haven't had them lately," Louis pointed out. Closer into his chest, he pulled the small body while stroking his curly hair he will miss feeling everyday. "I doubt that would suddenly change."

"But..." Tears flood from the boy's eyes. "It won't be the same. Your arms are warm at night and your lips, too. Your lips are warm, but not for me. So, I guess it is better if I leave and that hurts. I don't like losing the ones I love."

"You're not losing me completely, sweetie," cooed Louis as the boy cried harder into his chest and his several tears soaked through his white shirt. His heart felt like someone was wringing it in their hands when seeing Harry like that. "Please don't cry, baby. You know I love you."

"How much?" Harry lifted his head up to peer at the man, tears glistening in his bright green eyes. His hands haven't loosened their grip on him. "How much do you love me? Do you love me enough to fight for me?"

"I wanted to, love." Louis really did want to. "I am supposed to love El more, though. I am supposed to fight for what she believes in."

"But do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love her more."

Louis had been trying his best to keep his tears from falling, from streaming from his bloodshot eyes. There's only so much a person can take, even a man like him- especially a man like him. He choked on his own sobs and held the teen tighter than ever before.

"I just can't do this, H," he spoke into his curls, his voice muffled, yet clear enough. "I have to make her happy."

"Like you always do. What happened to your happiness?"

He stroked the older man's arm as he spoke. He almost felt responsible for the man's tears.

"Does your happiness matter anymore?"

Louis isn't so sure.


	17. Chapter 17

Days like these, Louis can't even force a smile. He feels numb. Inside and out is pain, but a numbness. Harry made him feel so much. When Harry was around, the whole world made sense again. Nothing else mattered because he was there and his smile was beautiful and his eyes of green could calm a storm. Their time together was short, yet special. He was special.

Watching as the men drove away with him was heart wrenching. The boy's eyes were glossy and peered out the window at the man who his heart screams out for. His fingers dragged down the window, smearing the glass. All he wanted was to reach out and hug him one last time, but he knows that after that hug he would want another and soon he wouldn't ever want to let him go. One could say that the pain is unbearable for Harry. Louis was his entire world, all he had that actually mattered. He can't breathe anymore.

Louis watched the car disappear down the street. He peered at the end of the street, imagining where it might be. He stared until he could no longer accurately guess where the car was because it was far too gone. He stumbled weakly back to the house. His knees wobbled and his hands shook. He didn't want to go back. Eleanor was there. She stood in the doorway. Her arms were crossed over his chest. Louis' sorrowful, teary eyes looked at her hesitantly.

How does one live with a heart so cold?

He met her at the door, stopping before stepping a foot inside. She opened the door wider and waved for him to come inside, but she shook his head in refusal.

How does one live with another with a heart so cold?

"Louis," she said with annoyance in her voice, "I know you are upset. Come in. We can talk about it."

Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, at least not with her. She would say exactly what his parents have if he talked to them. 'She did it because she wants to save your relationship. She did it because she loves you. She did it because that boy was straining your relationship with your wife.' You mean the relationship that was already strained and unhealthy? That relationship?

He couldn't keep hearing those same words that could very well be complete bullshit. He couldn't keep hearing those words that have been engraved in his mind, deceiving him into thinking one thing when his heart feels an entirely other way.

"I need some space," Louis managed to sputter out without bursting into tears. "I think I'll go to Zayn's... spend the night at his place. I'll text if I change my mind."

She frowned after opening her mouth for a moment, almost as if she wanted to say something or was about to, but changed her mind. Whatever she had to say probably wouldn't have helped much anyways.

He entered the house, walking past her without a word. He went straight to his bedroom shared with his wife and looked through the closet for some clothes. The entire time he was getting dressed, tears fogged his sight. The boy had only just left and Louis already was a complete mess.

"What am I supposed to do without you, my little sweetheart?" Louis whispered, struggling to button his jeans. He shook his head at himself. He dragged his feet over to his dresser and grabbed the car keys. "You've only been gone ten minutes and I'm going insane."

"Louis, babe," spoke Eleanor as Louis was about to leave for his friend's.

With the front door cracked open, he turned his head, not making eye contact with her. "Yes?"

"I am sorry... but you know why I did it."

He nodded. "I know. I just wish you hadn't."

With that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him. He shouldn't be angry. She did it with all the right motives. She did it to save their marriage. That is what everyone says anyways, but maybe his good friend would have a different perspective. He always has some wise words.

Louis drove on to his friend's house only a short distance away where he lived with his beautiful lover. Louis prayed to God he wasn't working tonight otherwise he didn't know where else to go. No one else could ever give him advice like Zayn. He somehow finds light in every situation. He somehow finds the right words.

Relief poured over him as he pulled up and saw the silver car that Zayn drives often sitting in the driveway. The light inside the house was on as well, despite it still being light outside. Perrie's car was gone as expected since she seems to work a lot unlike his wife who doesn't really work at all. That doesn't matter too much, though. A husband is supposed to provide, which is difficult only working at a bar every other day if he is lucky.

Louis walked up to the door. It opened before he could knock, a worried Zayn in the doorway.

His eyes widened. "Eleanor told me you were on your way," he said, allowing Louis to walk past him. "Have you been crying?"

Not speaking a word, Louis went directly to the couch and cuddled in the corner of one end, his back against the arm. After pulling both of his legs close, he hid his face in his knees. Zayn frowned at his friend. It isn't often that he shows his sensitive side to his mates. Louis would act all rough and tough around his buddies even if he felt like complete shit. He always pulled the same act around his wife, knowing that if he showed even the slightest bit of his soft side, he would be called a wimp.

"I'll make you some tea," said Zayn, about to leave for the kitchen.

Louis reached out and tugged at his hand. "No. I'm alright," he said with a shake of his head. "I just need a good talk."

Zayn could never say no to the look in his eyes, the desperation in his voice. He slipped his hand from Louis' and sat on the cushioned seat next to his. He rubbed the man's knee for a moment. his eyes stared at him with sympathy. He didn't really know what was going on, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the boy he talks of often, the one his wife has said to despise.

"She made them take him away," Louis sobbed out, choking on his own words. "She didn't even warn me... I woke up and they were there to take him away. My baby."

Zayn frowned, this time affectionately rubbing his arm. "Who took him away, Lou?"

"These men who I guess work for an orphanage." Louis wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. His behavior resembled a child's, his movements. "I can, like, visit him on the weekends or some shit, but it won't be the same." His breathing grew quickly and uneven to the point where Louis was full on hyperventilating.

Into his chest, Zayn pulled Louis, rocking him and letting out a soothing 'shh' as he would with an infant. Only, this wasn't an infant. This was a grown man. This was one of his best friends. This was one of his best friends that usually doesn't show much emotion- not like this. Now he was trembling in his arms and crying uncontrollably over some teenage boys. This wasn't the man he knew. This wasn't the man his wife knew.

Only Harry. Only Harry knew.

"Mate, listen," whispered Zayn, holding Louis by his shoulders and pushing him away. "I've heard about this boy... Eleanor talks to Perrie about him often. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe there's a reason she didn't want him around?"

Louis shook his head frantically. "You've never met him. He's the sweetest boy I have ever met. He could- No one could ever hate him. He means everything." He lowered his head down, staring at his lap sadly.

Zayn released a sigh. "Bro... I hate to say this because I know this boy means the world to you as you said, but this is your marriage at risk. If you love Eleanor, you have to be willing to compromise."

There was no compromise. It was her way or no way. What Zayn said is probably true in certain ways. This isn't some joke or little relationship they could simply break off and move on from. This is a marriage, a marriage everyone around him would like to last. Louis has to start treating it like that, even if his own heart is screaming out for Harry, too.


	18. Chapter 18

After Louis' long talk with Zayn, he decided to go back to the house to his wife. He felt it was the smart thing to do after everything him and Zayn made sense of. They needed to work things out if he wanted their relationship to work. Surely that would make his father happy. Surely that would get his mind off of Harry...

But on the drive there at the ten o'clock hour, he is all he can think about. How long has he been without Harry? Not even a day? It hasn't even been a day and Louis is going insane without him- maybe literally insane, in fact. He thought he saw the little cupcake on the side of the road, casually walking to wherever his Converse shoes would take him. Louis pulled over and called his name. When the teenage boy turned his head, however, he was anything but the beautiful young boy that he loved.

As he pulled up to the house, Louis wiped away the escaping tears. He would have parked in the driveway, but his parking space was already occupied by Liam and Sophia's grey mini van. Louis immediately assumed it was Sophia, forgetting the fact that she cannot drive so far along in her pregnancy.

In no rush whatsoever to get inside, Louis slid out of his seat, locking the doors to his run down vehicle with a push of a button. While walking up to the front door, house key ready, he hummed the tune to a song Harry had made up and sung by memory. Even with Harry's lack of education, he found the words to the song impressive and they truly made him seem wise beyond his years. Lyrics like those are hard to forget, especially if they were written by someone you love with all your heart. 

Well, not all of your heart. No one can love someone else with all their heart if it's broken.

On the other side of the front door, Louis was able to hear suggestive noise, sounds that made his blood boil in anger. Thoughts raced by like fast forwarded credits after a movie, considerations of what to do next- without hurting anyone. His small hands were clenched into fists, veins popping out. He threw the door open furiously.

The horror on Eleanor's face was priceless.

Her body sprung off of Liam's instantly. Lying on his back there on the couch, shirtless and eyes wide, Liam was in a panic. He was in so much of a panic he couldn't budge a muscle.

Eleanor, meanwhile, was just as still and silent. She stood in the middle of the living room with trembling lips. Her arms were awkwardly folded in front of her breasts that were barely covered by a lace bra.

For about thirty long seconds, they all were quiet, none uttering a single word. Then, Louis exploded.

"What in the actual hell did I just walk in on?" He yelled at Eleanor, throwing his arms down at his side, not knowing what else to do with them. "You're a complete hypocrite!"

"It's not what it looks like-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Louis nearly screamed, stepping towards her with a red face and snarled teeth. His eyes were but daggers boring holes into her skull. "I know exactly what I saw when I opened that door. I'm not stupid, but I am for staying with you."

For now, Louis avoided his friend who was frantically getting clothed again. He only continued to glare at his wife whose eyes were filling with tears. Perhaps his furious screams were the cause of her tears or the guilt of getting caught. Either way, Louis felt no pity.

"I support you by playing gigs at a stupid ass bar. I have sex with you so much, even when I don't want to, that I don't enjoy it anymore... which still doesn't seem like enough for you by the looks of it," Louis began to rant, letting out the complaints he had been holding in for months, years perhaps. "You don't work, you're selfish, and have done nothing but put down my dreams."

She shook her head in refusal. "Louis, I-"

"No," he interrupted again, tugging at his own hair. "I'm not taking anymore of your shit. And to think... I was coming back here to make things right."

"And what about you, huh?" Eleanor snarled, getting in Louis' face with a scowl, her cheeks flushing red. "You're the one who cheated on me first with that orphan brat!"

He ignored what she called his angel before backing away from her with round eyes. "I know that what I did was wrong," he insisted, "but that 'orphan brat' has made me happier and has given me more love than you have in all of the time I've been with you."

Eleanor was clearly stunned. Her eyes were still full of tears, hands shaky at her sides. She looked ashamed (which she was) and quite confused (which she was not). She knew exactly what she had done. She knew exactly how she had put him down time after time for something he was so passionate about.

But she didn't care in the end, and that made Louis furious.

"And you," he snarled at Liam who though he could sneak past the conflicting couple. "I thought we were friends, but you know what? That's not why I'm mad. I'm mad because you have a wife who loves you with all she has, sitting at home right now. And she is pregnant."

Liam froze where he was about a yard from the door. Shame filled his big brown eyes. He resembled a sad, lost puppy dog that just got in trouble for chewing up a shoe. It's easy to forgive an adorable puppy, but at the moment, Louis felt that what Liam had done was unforgivable. Maybe it was.

"I hope you know how you're going to tell her because if you don't," Louis turned the handle of the front door, "I will." With that, he left.

He stormed out of his house with only his keys, phone, and wallet. He stormed out of his house and left behind all he had known for the past several years... yet, he felt strangely at peace as he pulled away, almost like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.


	19. Chapter 19

A month later and everything has changed. It's crazy how quick life can turn as a result of unfortunate events such as Louis'. Some say it was all his fault, that he is the reason Eleanor had been tempted to cheat. That is what his dad said when he informed him of the big break up and divorce in the works. He had tried to explain that it wasn't a temptation, but that she actually did cheat. His dad didn't understand and he never will; it's impossible to break a love that was already broken.

Since this dreaded conversation with his dad, they haven't spoken. He had tried to call, but he never answered. It came to the point where he gave up on trying at all. He believed what he wanted to believe and he would never be able to change his perspective.

Only one person believed why he did the things he did, tried to understand, and thought he deserved better than the witch known as Eleanor.

That person was Niall, the cheerful man who often came to his gigs at the bar and sees the bright side in almost every situation. Recently going through a break up himself, he understands how Louis is feeling and doesn't judge him when discovering the true reason his heart is shattered; for it isn't the falling out of his splintered marriage that caused him to cry asleep at night, but the loss of the teenage boy who studied the stars and dreamed without limits.

Niall took Louis into his tiny flat without second thought. He was lonely after his lover left him and he always loved Louis' company. His friendship with his other ex-bandmates had gradually failed- except when it came to Louis. He had put a great effort into keeping Louis in his life. It is all he had left in this little town they're in.

Most days consist of Niall going to work and Louis staying at the flat, searching the paper and internet for jobs and cheap places to live. Playing at the bar isn't going to cut it- not without Harry. People from miles away would gather to watch the two. The disappointment on their faces when it was only Louis on the stage were as expected. It could be that it was finally time to give up on the dream.

It isn't what he wanted. It isn't what Harry would have wanted either. He always encouraged his dreams, always told him that he is just as good of a performer with him as he was without him. He found that hard to believe. He felt something when singing with Harry. He had someone to sing to when he was there.

Even without the boy around, Louis sings to him. He will be sweeping the floor or casually roaming the internet in hunt for job opportunities or maybe cooking dinner for himself and Niall, and there he will be singing the song Harry created by memory and somehow got stuck in his head. He really couldn't help himself from constantly wondering about Harry and if he is okay and if he thinks of him, too.

There is only thing that he knew for sure; he loves Harry.

No longer is there a point in denying his feelings for someone he loves so truly and deeply and unconditionally. He first admitted this to himself. It took a whole day of crying and emotional poem writing to recover from the fact- the fact he loved someone he couldn't have.

Then he told Niall who didn't seem shocked one bit. He simply told Louis that he always suspected he was gay or even bisexual. In addition, he saw the way he looked at Harry, the way his voice was sweeter and softer when his presence was near.

Everyone could see the natural chemistry they shared. That natural chemistry, the compassion he had felt for the boy, is something Louis wishes his father could have witnessed. Maybe then he would have believed him from the start, wouldn't have been so disappointed in him.

Louis has the theory that anyone with a heart could fall in love with Harry- so obviously not Eleanor.

A month later- after an entire month full of searching and crying and endless sentimental poem writing- things were finally changing. In the same week, Louis was able to find both a job at a small diner as a waiter and, about three miles from Niall, a flat right outside of town. It wasn't anything special. None of it is. It is an average sized flat with appliances that barely work, but will do just fine for the man. There are no nice towels or couches that are comfortable enough to possibly make if feel like a home, but none of those items would make it feel like a home anyway.

Louis knows better than anybody else in his life that home isn't a place or a collection of materialistic items that will eventually deteriorate away.

Home is a person. Home are the arms that you can fall into after a long day of work, bones aching and muscles tight. Home is the voice you could listen to for hours at a time- until it's four in the morning and the words turn into slurred mumbles that only make sense to you.

Home is a boy with an imagination that could save the generation. Home is a heart that has gone through hell and back, but is still a beautiful gold. Home is a mind so innocent, yet full of wisdom that he had gathered simply from observations.

This home sickness, this absence of home, was soon replaced by a woman whose own heart was as lost as his. Her presence stopped the storm in his hectic mind, calmed the overwhelming feeling of never belonging.

She showed up on his front doorstep, belly more round that it was the last he saw her glowing face. But on the doorstep there, her face was no longer glowing. Her eyes were dark and empty, lips trembling and on the edge of breaking down. She appeared an accurate representation of how Louis felt on the inside.

Louis invited her in and they talked for hours. They related to each other's thoughts to a certain extent. They both cried and held hands. Not once did she judge his story that he no longer had shame in hiding. She accepted it as Niall previously did. Neither did he judge her, for her own cracked path was one he had stumbled down as well and was still winding on.

Louis and this woman belonged together in the sense that they needed each other in order to heal. They belonged together in the sense that without each other, they would never find their way again.

Despite having a rubbish job and a family who ignores his calls, Louis found a fulfillment in the woman. He is as fulfilled as he can be without the one person who truly felt like home.

Soon after, he tried to find the boy, went out to seek for those arms that held him when life got too hard and the voice that told him fascinating tales about far away places he's never been and often said he'd have nothing if they took him away. Louis never realized who "they" were- not until it was too late.

Louis found the orphanage. There, he asked about Harry, but they said it was too late. They told him he was gone now, that a family had taken him in and called him theirs. When Louis asked for details, they only turned their backs to him.

He wants to trust in the universe again. Louis wants to believe that Harry's new family loves him as much as he does and accepts his haunted past, understands why he is different in comparison to other teenage boys. He wants to believe that wherever he is in the scary world, he is safe- as safe as he was in Louis' strong arms.

Perhaps he was never meant to remain in Louis' arms. Perhaps what had once felt so right was never actually meant to be. That is how Louis felt his whole life is going- his dreams, his relationship with his friends and family...

Rather than life falling apart, what if it is actually falling into place?

It's a thought Louis considers on his way back to his flat. It's a thought he considers the next day. It's a thought he considers until it's no longer a consideration, but an assumption. This is the way life is supposed to be, even thought it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel right and it never will, but Louis trusts it. He trusts it because life is okay and his he is surviving.

He is okay. That is all he will ever be without him.


	20. Chapter 20

Louis walked into the bakery with the little girl in his arms, a little one year old girl with big brown eyes and a pink bow in her hair; a little girl he considered his own. The bell rang overhead which caused her eyes to widen in surprise and he pink lips to twist into a wondrous grin. Louis chuckled fondly as he walked to the front desk.

A woman in her late fifties turned to assist him, voice warm and welcoming. "How may I help you, sir?"

He gave her a kind grin in response, shifting the toddler's weight on his side. "I'll have a Yorkshire tea with two sugars... and a blueberry muffin for this one, please," he said in a small voice. He poked at the girl's nose playfully which earned him a giggle.

The lady, whose name tag read Julie, typed the order in and grinned at him and the girl. "She is adorable!" She said in endearment. "What's your name, cutie?"

Louis was tempted to answer with his own name although she was talking to the girl, but decided to hold back his cheeky ways instead. "Harley."

The woman raised an eyebrow and moved to make the tea. "After Harley Davidson?" She asked with a smirk. "Not to judge a book by its cover, but you just don't look like the motorcycle type."

"I'm not," Louis chuckled, stroking the girl's tiny face with his fingertips. "It's not her name for that reason... It's quite personal, I guess."

She didn't question him any further, deciding it to be rude. Louis wandered from the counter, then, and found a little booth in the corner of the relatively crowded bakery. He sat Harley down in the red cushioned seat before sliding in next to her. Protectively, he wrapped an arm around her petite body, cocooning her into his side. He kissed the top of her head tenderly.

"Love you, sweetie," he whispered with a doting smile as her eyes fluttered up to his innocently.

She grasped onto his red Adidas jacket with her chubby fingers. "Daddy," she babbled out. "Love 'ou." 

Louis' eyes sparkled, skin wrinkling at the sides. "Aw, baby," he said with an excited laugh. "I love hearing you say that." He tickled her sides, her loud laughter filling the silent spaces of the bakery.

People around peered over with bright eyes, including Julie who sat the muffin and tea onto the table in front of them. He thanked with a giant grin. She nodded in response and then left two of the happiest customers she has ever seen in the corner; only to admire more from afar.

Most people quieted down as the sound of a guitar started on the other side of the shop. Louis supposed that is why most people are there that morning, for whatever musical performance was there for them.

He didn't pay attention to them at first, though. He only focused on unwrapping the muffin for his daughter and tearing it into small pieces. Her eager fingers stretched out for the food and tried to snatch them. Louis told her to be patient, so she folded her hands and smiled at him honorably. Louis would never get used to her.

As she nibbled on the muffin, he sipped at his tea, gendering out at the sunrise outside the window. It's only two hours before he drops Harley off at her aunt's house and five until he goes to his new part time job. He smiled to himself contently. He liked how comfortable it all felt- never complete, but comfortable.

A voice begins to drift throughout the small building, completing the crevices of his cracked heart. Louis' eyes shut at the sound. The lyrics came as a distant memory, one that makes his heart flutter and skin tingle.

He convinces himself that he is on the floor of his old bedroom, once shared with a woman whose tongue dripped of lies. He imagines having the boy back in his arms, a boy whose own arms were occupied by a guitar he could barely play, but whose tongue dripped of words wise beyond his years.

He convinced himself of this until the music stopped completely in the middle of a verse and he was face to face with the very boy whom his heart screams out for endlessly.

"Harry," he choked out, tripped over his own feet as he neared him, arms reaching out desperately.

The almost unrecognizable young man, about eighteen now, dropped the guitar to the ground. He fell into Louis' arms with tears in his eyes. "Louis. Louis you're here. Why are you here? How are you here?" He sobbed into his neck. His hands grabbed at Louis' jacked until his knuckles turned white.

"Harry..." Louis cried, ignoring the stares of people surrounding. "I-I live in town. I just moved here for a job... waiter and singing at that expensive restaurant downtown."

"You're still singing," Harry said, a smile in his voice. "Oh, my god. I'm so proud of you."

He pulled away. Louis now had time to admire him and all of the beautiful he has evolved into. He is taller now, eyes as green as a glorious sea., curls longer and reaching halfway down his pale neck. His style has changed, a button up hugging his chest and skinny jeans molding around his legs in a way that could drive Louis insane.

How was this possibly the same person he took in only about a year and a half ago?

"You're so grown up," Louis whispered, taking Harry's face in his hands and tracing along his cheekbones with his thumbs. "C'mon, sit down. We can catch up."

He pulled him over to the booth by his forearm. He slid back next to Harley who watched him with curious eyes and ate her muffin, untroubled. Harry slid in across from him, hand instantly reaching for his.

It was as if nothing had changed despite the separation of their souls and arms that constantly yearned for the other's body to hold.

"So you work here now?" Louis asked softly, leaning forward with wide eyes. He had never felt so invested in a conversation. "Your voice is still so gorgeous."

Harry blushed and nodded. "Thank you. And yes. I work here with my mum. My new mum."

Louis shifted his attention to the woman at the front desk who watched them both suspiciously, "Julie?"

Harry nodded fast, grinning wider than Louis had ever seen. "Yes. That's her. It's just me and her, but she has taught me so much. She home schooled me and supported me until I was able to buy my own flat. She still supports me and loves me. And I love her, too."

Louis' eyes tear up again. "That's wonderful, love. I never wished for anything less for you."

Harry wiped his eyes with his free hand, trying his best not to burst into tears. "I never thought I'd find happiness after losing you," he cried out, no longer attempting to contain his sobs, no longer caring. "God, I haven't stopped thinking about you. I tell my mum about you all of the time."

Louis glanced at Harley who was still eating and watching everything attentively before going to the other side and gathering the young man in his arms, his long legs resting over his own. Harry's arms hugged him around the waist, smothering him with kisses. Louis did the same to him. He never forgot how much Harry loved kisses.

Harry giggled and gulped, out of breath from the sobbing that would wear out anyone. "Is that... Is that your daughter?" He asked, looking at the toddler whose shirt was covered in muffin crumbs.

With a shake of his head, Louis answered, "Not technically. Remember Sophia and Liam? You never met them, but I talked of them, yeah?"

Harry looked back at him. "Of course. She looks a lot like them from what I remember from pictures you showed me."

"Yeah. They had a huge falling out... as well as me and Eleanor. It's a story I don't want to get into right now," Louis grumbled, looking down at his fingers that entwined with Harry's. "Sophia came to live with me and I've been more of a father to her daughter than Liam ever would have been."

Harry chuckled. "Harley? Like the motorcycle?"

Louis rolled his eyes, smiling goofy-like. "Everyone says that, but no. I chose the name and... I chose it because it sounded kind of like yours."

When Louis was finally ogling at Harry with his hand squeezing onto his tightly still, his eyes met with ones that shined brighter than he has ever seen, way brighter than the eyes he met in his backyard shed that stormy afternoon. He wouldn't recognize them if he saw them now.

He took Louis' face into his hands as he had to him earlier, his focus shifting to his lips and back to his eyes and to his lips again. It was back and forth in sync with almost every word that spilled from his plump lips.

"I love you so much-"

"Harry, I-"

"No," he interrupted with a shake of his head. "I love you and every song I sing is to you and I have never stopped and never will." He took in a shaky breath, giving Louis enough time to recover from all he just said... only to realize there is no way he ever could- no matter the amount of time. "Please tell me I'm your everything even if it's a lie. Tell me you couldn't stop thinking about me, too, and-"

"Harry, shut up," Louis laughed, crashing his lips into the young man's.

Louis has a lot of theories. There's the theory that Harry is loved by all he meets; even his mother who is no longer around his father who would if he ever gave him a chance. There is the theory that home lies in a soul or multiple souls, ones that rescue him from all that he isn't able to conquer himself.

The last theory is the most important. It was a theory proposed by Harry and proven to be true when their lips collided.

If the universe had taken Harry from him completely, never to give him back, he would die with an empty soul and a broken heart.

He'd have nothing.

He was a dead man before Harry gave him life, breathed air into his lungs and poured love into him like a fountain of mercy.

Everything he ever needed was next to him and remained next to him for hours after, Harley in his arms and a dopey smile on his face.


End file.
